


The Weakness of a Strength

by IcyPanther



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Angst, Emotional Hurt, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Hurt Keith (Voltron), Hurt Lance (Voltron), Hurt/Comfort, Keith (Voltron) Angst, Keith (Voltron) Backstory, Keith (Voltron)-centric, Lance (Voltron) Whump, Platonic Relationships, Platonic Sheith, Protective Keith (Voltron), Protective Lance (Voltron), Torture, platonic klance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-13
Updated: 2019-07-25
Packaged: 2019-11-16 15:10:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 10
Words: 35,438
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18096758
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IcyPanther/pseuds/IcyPanther
Summary: First Shiro went missing. And no matter how desperately Keith searches he can’t find the only family member he has left. Shiro could be being tortured, forced to fight, he could bedeadand Keith has no idea and itterrifieshim. And if that wasn’t enough, now his luxite blade, the only thing he has left of his parents, has been stolen. He has to get it back. He can’t lose it too.He finds an unexpected ally in Lance, who insists on joining him in this second just as desperate search that takes them straight into the one of the most dangerous, deadly places in the universe. And Keith discovers that although this quest started with searching for his knife he may have found something even more important along the way. That is, if he doesn’t lose it first.





	1. One

**Author's Note:**

> **Timeline notes:** Set in season three prior to locating Shiro (up through episode four)  
>  **Warning notes:** Graphic violence and imagery, torture scenes (marked at the top of chapters they appear in)

Keith did his best not to scowl as he was jostled yet again by the pressing, screaming crowd of Blians and their allies lining the streets and joining in the victory parade that he unfortunately found himself a part of.

Voltron had freed Blia from Galra control earlier in the day after a near four-thousand year hold on the resource-rich and relatively advanced planet and the Blians had insisted on celebrating and honoring their heroes. Before Keith could even try to turn them down (they had more pressing matters, things like responding to other distress beacons, _looking for Shiro)_ Lance had jumped right in with an enthusiastic yes and Allura had graciously accepted and despite the fact that Keith was leader (and never mind he didn’t want the title) he’d been completely overridden and somehow that decision had morphed into a parade through Blia’s main city and was to end with a speech and dedication by their leaders in the town square.

And it’s not that he didn’t appreciate the show of support and he understood the importance of building relations, he really did, but…

But he had never cared for the frivolities, for crowds, for all of the sheer _contact_ as the aliens continued to bump about him, their voices chanting Voltron at the top of their lungs and despite being a smaller species they were _loud._

His already sensitive ears felt like they were bleeding.

It would probably be considered beyond rude too to put his helmet on from where it was clipped on his side. His fingers twitched though at the thought and he forced them to settle.

No.

Almost done.

Another Blian crashed into him from the side and Keith stumbled at the impact, unable to fully bite back the low growl of annoyance that time. The Blian, a younger one he thought based on its stature, gave him a contrite looking grin and Keith forced himself to take a deep breath and give a short nod, accepting the apology. 

He was the leader of Voltron. He couldn’t let himself (outwardly) be bothered by things like that.

It hadn’t been an unintentional hit. There was nothing nefarious about it.

No harm, no foul.

Breathe.

Patience.

Almost done.

Keith chanted that silently to himself as they wound through the streets, doing his best to make eye contact with citizens lining the roadway and while he couldn’t quite muster up a smile (this was a waste of time, Shiro was out there, Shiro could be _hurt)_ he managed a more neutral, hopefully leader-ish expression.

It was the opposite of Lance, who was about thirty paces ahead of him and taking selfies as he walked, reaching out and giving high-fives (or, well, high eights maybe as the Blians had a number of extra fingers on their slender hands) and laughing and beaming and _reveling_ in the celebration. Behind him, as he risked a glance, Pidge was not quite as enthusiastic but she was smiling and waving and signing some datapads thrust her way by the aliens of nearly the same stature as she, and behind her Hunk was walking hand in hand with a definite Blian child and chatting amicably with what had to be the mom. Keith couldn’t make out Allura, at the head of their line, but he had no doubt she was smiling and displaying the regal and commanding air of both a princess and a Paladin of Voltron. Coran, the luckiest of them all, had been asked to assist in setting up the plaza for the speech and he got to avoid the parade entirely.

The plaza that was coming into view and Keith let out a quiet sigh of relief.

Finally.

Almost over.

Allura had already told him she would take charge in any diplomatic events and Keith hoped he hadn’t looked as outwardly relieved as he’d felt. Public speaking had never been his forte and having all of that attention on him made him more nervous than he’d care to admit and words, already hard to come by at times, all but disappeared.

The Black Lion may have chosen him to lead the team but to Keith that meant in combat; not in alliance building whatsoever. Allura, and to his surprise (and yet not) Lance, had instead taken up that role, Lance falling into Shiro’s spot of backing up Allura when needed although with generally far more enthusiasm, smiles, and touches that moved from handshakes to hugs and back slaps.

No one had yet declared war or claimed offense and Allura, as far as Keith knew, hadn’t told Lance to stop his more energetic relationship building and so he said nothing either.

He was torn between being glad that someone on their team could still smile and laugh so freely when he could not, and bitter that Lance and the others were able to do so when Shiro was still missing.

He knew they cared. They did.

But…

But they didn’t care as much as he did. And sometimes Keith wondered if that was the reason they had yet to find Shiro, even though he knew that wasn’t the case, not really. Allura had allowed them to search for nearly a full month, only halting at distress beacons in their immediate area, and she still put out resources, had the Blade looking too…

But still no luck. They had no real leads and were on a wild goose chase across the vast universe that Keith knew without fateful interference would remain as such.

It wasn’t fair.

He refused to give up, as Shiro had never given up on him.

Just…

He had no idea where else to look.

The few Galra bases they’d infiltrated had had nothing of interest. No Shiro. Not even of the Holts. Just dead end after dead end.

They couldn’t even find definitive proof as to if Zarkon was dead.

The Galra were still waging war, still enslaving planets, still spreading death and destruction across the universe in Zarkon’s name, but whether it was in his memory or in his rule was unknown and they had been unable to ascertain otherwise and Lotor, Keith’s eyes narrowed at the thought of the supposed prince, had done nothing to assist in that regard.

Keith honestly didn’t even know if Lotor was really fighting on behalf of the Empire or for some goal of his own and they did not have the time or resources to find out as they were being pulled every which way putting out both literal and figurative fires. All he knew was the prince was a threat and that was enough.

But even with the obstacles, with the other duties Voltron had that Keith had to uphold...

He would never stop looking.

Ever.

Except for right now, while he was gestured up onto the dais by a Blian in what Allura had briefed them were council robes and denoted the Blians’ government (which had remained intact even under Galra rule as Blia was over a million people large plus a large trading center and it had been in the Galra’s best interest to allow them to govern themselves in some way rather than tie up that many resources in a full takeover) to stand while the speeches commenced.

At least no one was jostling him up here.

Keith stood stiffly at attention as various council members spoke, repeating each other over and over, and he could see that by almost forty minutes in even Lance’s smile was starting to fall a little flat and by an hour Allura had a sort of twitch by her mouth.

When the sixteenth (out of thirty-six) council member stepped up two hours in Keith almost let out an audible sigh of relief as Allura cleared her throat and stepped forward as well, halting the Blian’s progress.

Finally.

His feet were asleep from standing in formation for so long and unlike his other Paladins save Allura he had not shifted once to relieve that ache.

His almost done mantra was starting to sound more like a prayer than a comfort.

“Citizens of Blia,” she spoke, voice regal. “Voltron is honored and humbled by your kind words and thanks. But as we stand before you the shadow of the Galra Empire continues to spread and there is no time to waste. We wish to see the universe freed from their tyrannical rule and enslavement, just as you have experienced today. The hour grows late and the darkness with it; with all due respect I must beg your leave so that Voltron may continue its mission.”

It was not one of Allura’s more decorated speeches, but it was true and heartfelt and from his vantage Keith could see many of the assembled crowd nodding.

Thank God.

But the council member that had been about to speak frowned. “With the sincerest of words,” he spoke, “it is our tradition that every council member be allowed to speak to express our great thanks.”

Keith caught Hunk and Lance exchanging a glance behind Allura, a frown tugging at Lance’s face too and pain on Hunk’s… who was favoring his right leg ever so.

Keith’s gaze sharpened.

Had Hunk been hurt?

He racked his brain of the fight, trying to recall if the Yellow Lion had taken any more severe hits that could damage even its large bulk.

He…

He couldn’t remember. He’d been focused on taking out the main flagship and any particulars of the rest of the battle were just snippets over the comms.

He hadn’t even thought to ask, and Hunk had seemed fine earlier, but…

He felt a prickle on the back of his neck.

Some leader he was.

“And I do not mean to upset such a beautiful and… time-honored tradition,” Allura said, face a tad more stiff and drawing his attention again, “but the Paladins of Voltron must regretfully cut short this gathering.”

“This is unprecedented,” sniffed the council member and a few others were starting to nod along with him. “To suggest we—”

“Look,” Keith snapped, unable to keep quiet any longer and officially out of patience. “We’re leaving. _Thank you_ ,” he stressed the gratitude, “for this,” he gestured a wide arm at the dais, “but we’re done here.”

“Black Paladin,” the council member’s voice was like ice.

He continued to speak, words that Keith didn’t quite catch as the address echoed in his mind.

Black Paladin. Black Paladin.

No.

That was Shiro’s title.

This was wrong.

Black Paladin.

Shiro had been wrong.

He couldn’t do this.

He wasn’t the Black Paladin.

He wasn’t the leader.

But…

But right now…

His gaze flicked from the council member, still talking, and back towards where Hunk’s face was definitely starting to display pain and Lance’s was open worry at this point, and then to Allura who looked mostly impassive but he could see the pull of her lips and he wasn’t sure if that was directed towards him or the Blians but he didn’t care anymore.

He didn’t know much about being a leader but he had learned that listening to and looking after his team was number one.

Even if he’d already failed miserably on that front again today.

But he could fix it.

Maybe. Hopefully.

“No,” Keith interrupted, not sure where the council member was in his speech but again, not caring. “One of my team is hurt,” he jerked his chin in Hunk’s direction and he could sense the larger boy stiffen at being called out, “which happened when he was saving _your_ planet. We’re done here. Coran,” and to his relief the advisor stepped forward and based on the set of his jaw Keith felt he might have an ally with at least one Altean, “will give you one of our distress beacons and our transmission channel so we can remain in touch and discuss the particulars of this alliance at a future time.”

“Black P—”

“Enough,” Keith bit out and the expression he made had the alien shrinking back. Keith forced himself to take a breath.

They didn’t want to frighten them.

“The Black Paladin’s words are firm but rooted in passion and concern for his team,” Allura stepped in with practiced diplomacy. “I stand by his words, honored council member. The Paladins of Voltron have seen battle today and we must return to our ship to heal both our bodies and continue to heal the wounds of the universe. I implore you, no offense was intended, but on this point I cannot err.”

Keith pointedly kept his gaze on the council member but he could feel Allura at his side and her presence, her _support_ despite his angered outburst, let him draw a full breath again.

He hadn’t fucked it up.

Maybe.

“We are not in the habit of keeping our saviors hostage,” spoke a different council member, one who had already spoken. She inclined her head, bald as the rest of her species but adorned with a circlet. “Thank you, Paladins of Voltron, for the gift of freedom you have bestowed upon us. Let us not keep you any longer.”

“We thank you for your most gracious leave,” Allura dipped into a curtsy and Keith stiffly inclined his head.

From there it was a quick shuffle as Coran presented the beacon and coordinates to the council member who had given them leave and was Keith’s decided favorite, Lance looped one of Hunk’s arms over his shoulders and escorted him down the dais, still somehow managing to smile and nod at the audience and Pidge joined them, acting as a buffer on Hunk’s other side from the crowd, while Keith stood by Allura as Coran finished up.

She said nothing to him except to lightly touch his shoulder as Coran moved towards them and they descended the dais as well and back towards the castle, parked on the outskirts of the main city.

Keith didn’t relax until they were up the ramp and it was closing behind them.

“—not bad, I swear,” he heard Hunk saying, sitting on the low couch in the entrance hall. “It’s just a—” he cut off with a gasp as Lance unclasped the leg plate.

“It’s,” he tried again as Lance, face unnaturally grim, grabbed the bottom of the undersuit leg and began to roll it up, “not baa—” he gasped as the underarmor was hefted to his knee and purple and blue mottled flesh greeted them.

Bruised definitely, if not broken kneecap.

Keith couldn’t believe Hunk had been standing on it, let alone for _hours_ after walking in the parade.

Hunk was looking at his leg like it was an alien and not a part of him.

“Oh,” he said, voice small.

“Oh,” Lance repeated, gently tapping Hunk’s other knee.

“What happened?” Keith pulled closer as Allura and Coran paused to speak to one another quietly, no doubt relaying whatever message the council had passed on now outside of watching eyes and overheard ears. No one had gone outside of their Lions during the battle — he knew that much at least — and normally the worst injuries sustained from the cockpit were minor bruises if they happened to lash out with their arms against the controls.

Hunk’s cheeks darkened, no doubt knowing the same, but Keith was somewhat grateful the green tinge had faded in light of it. “It was my fault,” he whispered, gaze drawn now to the floor on the opposite side of his hurt leg. “One of Yellow’s shield ports got damaged and I got up to fix it and…” he gave a roll of his broad shoulders. “I got thrown around the cabin and my leg got caught. It… might have twisted. But it didn’t feel that bad, honest, until later.”

Adrenaline to start, Keith summarized, and then just a high pain tolerance on Hunk’s part. The armor too had likely kept it braced although now that it was free the swelling was rapidly overtaking the limb and a sheen of sweat was decorating Hunk’s brow.

“You didn’t do anything wrong,” Keith told him as the blame seemed to be Hunk’s largest concern right now. Based on the sharp inhale from Hunk and the raising of eyebrows from Lance, expression something Keith couldn’t quite place, he’d called it.

“I interrupted the ceremony,” Hunk put forth and at that Keith actually snorted.

“I’m pretty sure Allura did first,” he said, “and then me, which I would do so again,” he went for what he hoped was a comforting smile. Hunk’s lips quirked up the barest bit. “That was worse than one of Iverson’s lectures.”

“I never thought there could be anything worse, but yeah,” Lance nodded at Keith. “Definitely worse.”

“I got ice!” Pidge careened around the corner from the direction of the kitchen. “Here we—” she cut off with a grimace. “Holy fuck that looks awful.”

“Feels like it now too,” Hunk winced.

“Coran—” Keith started but the older Altean was already there.

“Let’s get you into a pod, lad,” he said, easily looping Hunk’s arm about his shoulders and pulling the large boy to his feet without any effort. “Number Three, if I could have your assistance?”

Lance gave a nod and sunny smile and was at Hunk’s other side within a tick and commandeering the other arm about his own shoulders.

“I’m gonna get changed,” Pidge said, already walking away in the opposite direction with a wave of the unneeded icepack, leaving Keith and Allura in the front entry hall.

Keith turned to the princess then, unsure if he should be expecting a reprimand for what he’d done and for his word about the ceremony from one of their new allies, but to his surprise Allura was looking at him with a soft expression.

He resisted the urge to shift on his feet.

“Good job, Keith,” she told him quietly, reaching forward and placing a slender hand on his armored shoulder. “On all fronts.” She patted it and then moved past. “I shall get the castle airborne in but a few dobashes. Join me on the bridge after you have changed to discuss our next course, please.”

Keith inclined his head, feeling something warm blossoming in his chest that he tried not to let show on his face.

Allura had thought he’d done a good job?

It was high praise coming from her, especially as all Keith saw were the flaws and errors he’d made. But Shiro had never been one to focus on the negatives and, he swallowed, he should try not to dwell on them either. Everything had turned out all right. Blia had been freed, they had new allies and Hunk was going to be fine in a few varga.

Step a little lighter he made his way to his quarters, undoing the arm guards as he went. His door slid open with a light hiss and Keith entered, tossing the guards onto his immaculate bed and his chestplate was soon to follow, a deep breath of relief once it was off.

His right hand went to his bayard holder, pulling it free to set on his nightstand, and his left went to the spot he kept his Marmora blade in another side holster.

His left hand met air.

Keith glanced down, half-expecting to see his fingers somehow off from where the dark hilt normally rested just below his outer thigh.

It wasn’t there.

His breath caught as he stared at the empty space.

His knife…

His _mom’s_ knife…

Was gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Commissioned fic for tumblr user lesbianallurance (35k) featuring Keith and Lance in a quest to get Keith’s stolen knife back with a boatload of Keith angst. It was definitely a fun fic to design and write and I’m quite fond of a lot of my original characters who pop up throughout this and I hope you enjoy them (and all the angst and whump) too! ♥ This is primarily a Keith-centric fic but there will be **plenty** of Lance whump, never fear! It’s sort of like a condensed version of _Sin_ but with even more emotional Keith angst in a third of the space. Let’s do this :D
> 
> If you are enjoying the fic, please please do leave a comment below detailing **what you liked about the chapter.** AO3 does not allow authors to post links to financially support us and our efforts, but emotional support and validation is just as important and your comments mean the world. **Please don’t just read and run! Leave a comment! Thank you!**


	2. Two

Keith stood frozen even as his mind raced as to _where_ his knife would be.

He’d had it when they’d gone to the distress beacon, he knew, and all of the battle had taken place inside the Lions.

Had it fallen out inside Black?

Keith didn’t think so, but…

But…

Normally graceful hands fumbled to pull off the rest of his armor and undersuit and shakily yank on his civilian clothes and the belt — empty holster, his stomach clenched — and he made for Black’s hangar pulse pounding in his ears.

He’d never lost his knife before, not like this.

He’d had it taken away once at the group home after one of the foster families had tattled after he’d accidentally hurt their son — he was _protecting_ himself, damnit, but they hadn’t cared, he was the aggressor, always the aggressor even when he _never_ was — but even then he’d known where it was, had stolen it back within the week.

It was all he had left of his parents.

His stomach rolled again and Keith felt something close to panic beginning to burble its way up his throat. He swallowed thickly against it and broken into a sprint for the hangar.

It had to be there.

It had to be.

Pop had given it to him for Christmas just before he’d… Keith shook his head to clear away the memory. It had been his mom’s, Pop had said. He’d spoken of her then, the first time ever, and Keith had clung to every word. It had become a lullaby he would whisper to himself in the dead of night, praying that somehow it would summon her to him, wherever she was.

She’d left to protect them, Pop had said. Well… Keith had needed her to protect him now.

She’d never come.

He found out a couple months ago that might have been become his mom was an alien, a Galran. The thought still sent him reeling — _he_ was part alien — but it made sense, made him realize why he’d always been an outcast, had always been different. He was. It had comforted him then, even if it all it did was open up more questions and one Kolivan had not answered for him.

The knife was the last tie he had to either of them, the only clue he had to maybe finding his mom someday in the vast universe if she still lived, and…

And…

His hands were shaking again.

Sharp eyes darted about the floor of the hangar — nothing — and then the same to the Black Lion’s cockpit and entry ramp.

Nothing.

It wasn’t here.

Keith dug his nails into his palms, trying to focus on the pain rather than the sheer panic now _clawing_ at his insides while loss was already cutting hot and heavy and _where was it where was it where was it?_

He was being irrational, he could feel it, he needed to _calm the fuck down_ so he could _think._

He sucked in one harsh breath and then another, the sound echoing in the hangar.

Think.

After the fight, where he _knew_ he’d had it in his armor, they’d brought the Lions back to the castle hangars, then exited to the cheering crowds gathered outside once Coran landed the giant ship. Then they’d gone outside, there’d been the parade and—

Keith’s breath caught.

The parade.

The jostling, the shoving the people pressing in everywhere.

And then…

Then that alien had hit him and…

Keith could picture the face, contrite grin.

He could see now the hands, long and eight fingered, tucked behind his back, and the way he rolled back into the crowd like a passing shadow.

The alien was a pickpocket.

The alien had pickpocketed him.

He’d fucking pickpocketed a Paladin of Voltron after they just saved his planet.

He…

He…

Keith saw red.

He wasn’t even aware where he was going until he was stepping onto the bridge where Allura was with Lance, who was still in his armor. They were talking, words just sounds to the pulsing in his ears, but his face must have shown something because Lance broke off mid-sound, eyes widening while Allura’s gaze narrowed.

“Hey, man, you all r—?”

“My knife,” Keith forced the words out, cutting Lance short. His hands shook in closed fists at his side and he forced himself to take a breath.

No breaking down.

Keep it together.

“My knife,” he repeated, relieved that neither Lance nor Allura had spoken in the meantime. “It’s gone.”

“Gone?” Lance parroted. “Did you check your room, maybe, or—?”

“It’s gone,” Keith snapped. “Stolen.”

His nails cut half-circles into his palm and he forced another breath.

Lance hadn’t meant anything by it, had been trying to help.

Breathe.

Focus.

“Stolen?” Allura frowned. “By whom?”

“A pickpocket. During the parade. I, I just realized…”

The tight feeling was coming back up his throat and Keith swallowed heavily.

“This is your Marmora blade, yes?” Allura clarified.

That was all they knew it as, Keith realized. Just a weapon, a sign of being Galran. But he didn’t care about it for those reasons.

He cared because it was the only thing he had left of his parents, the only possession that had survived the group home and foster families and the only thing that reminded him of _home_ because Shiro was _gone_ and Keith couldn’t find him and that blade was _all he had left._

He settled for a jerking nod.

“We have just left Blian’s atmosphere,” Allura said, nodding at the console.

“We need to go back. _Now.”_

He was aware he sounded like a kid throwing a temper tantrum.

He didn’t care.

“It would be unwise to do so right now given the manner in which we left,” Allura continued, voice still even.

Keith hated her for it, for that calm and poise and _reason_ , when he just wanted to punch something over and over until his knuckles bled.

Preferably the pickpocket.

“I don’t care,” he growled.

His pulse was thrumming in his ears again.

“Keith—”

“I need to find it,” he snarled, flinging an arm out and not caring that he was yelling at the princess. “I need to find it. I have to. I, I…”

Lance’s gaze was both sharp and soft at once and his tone the same. “This isn’t just about the knife, is it?”

“What? Of course it’s about the knife. It’s _gone,”_ and Keith was alarmed to hear his voice trying to crack on the last word as his heart registered Lance’s words.

It was about the knife.

It wasn’t at all.

His pop. His mom. Shiro.

He could find the knife. It was just there, a location, a person, a lead.

Not like…

Not like Shiro.

“We cannot return now,” Allura said, still deceptively calm, “but,” she held up a hand, “that does not mean we cannot at all. The hour has grown to evening on Blian and returning now would prove a fruitless search. We will halt our movement here and return tomorrow to search.”

“No,” Keith shook his head. “No, that’s too late, that’s—”

He broke himself off, fingers digging back into his palms and he could feel blood — forgotten to put on his gloves he faintly noted — welling up.

Breathe.

Focus.

Be a leader.

Like… like Shiro wanted him to be.

Lance was looking at him with an expression Keith couldn’t figure out and even Allura’s features were morphing to a worry.

He was freaking them out by freaking out himself.

He had to get it together.

Be a leader.

Think about Voltron.

What would Shiro do?

“No,” he said again, taking a breath. “No. We… we can’t all go. We… we probably shouldn’t go as Voltron anyway, don’t need to cause an uproar with the alliance.”

Allura inclined her head, listening and Keith plowed on, trying to choose his words carefully over the urgency threatening to drown him.

“I’ll go. Just, just me. But, tonight. I—”

“There’s no point in going tonight, man,” Lance put in. “You heard Allura; everyone’s winding down and a pickpocket isn’t going to be out when the crowds aren’t.”

Keith’s retort froze.

That…

That made a lot of sense. Blia was huge, the capital city they’d been in housing well over one hundred thousand and so so many places to hide. Keith needed to lure the pickpocket out and he very well couldn’t do that right now.

“And you won’t go alone,” Lance continued into the pause. “I’ll come with. These eyes,” he tapped the side of his head with a small grin, “don’t miss much.”

“I don’t need your help.”

Keith flushed as soon as the words were out of his mouth and Lance’s grin wavered.

“I don’t need anyone’s help,” Keith pressed on, trying to alleviate the new feeling of guilt at the implication that Lance wasn’t good enough to help.

“This is my problem,” he said, tongue tripping over itself. “I’ll fix it.”

“Look, mullet—”

“I said no.”

“Keith,” Allura spoke, “I will allow this retrieval but only on the condition that you bring someone with. While Blia is our ally it is clear from this that not everyone is of a friendly nature and our relationship is still new and rather shaky. It is dangerous to go alone into a potentially hostile situation.”

Keith growled low in his throat.

What she said made sense, it did, but…

But he didn’t need a babysitter, which given the appraising look of her brows that’s what this was.

Because he couldn’t keep his cool long enough to not fuck up the image he’d just managed for Allura not even a varga ago.

Fuck it all.

“Fine.” He jerked his head in Lance’s direction. “We leave at oh eight hundred from the loading bay.”

He didn’t want _anyone_ coming along but Lance wouldn’t be a bad choice; he did have sharp eyes as he’d noted (seeing more than Keith wanted him to, honestly) and Lance was rather street smart, shown already in his observations of the crowds.

“Oh nine hundred,” Allura countered. “You will need disguises,” she explained. “I shall alert Coran and he will meet you there a varga before.”

“Fine,” Keith bit out again, turning on his heel.

He needed to get out of here. Needed to…

To hit something.

The training room. He’d go there, take out this bubbling anger and frustration and (he hated to admit it) fear on the gladiator.

It was the most he could offer right now, to not vent on his team, to try and maintain some semblance of control.

He could feel their gazes long after he’d left.

Lance meanwhile turned to Allura, who was frowning again.

“It’s not just the knife,” he repeated his earlier words.

“I admit I do not follow,” Allura said softly.

“Shiro,” Lance said. “It’s…” he let out a sigh and ran a hand through his hair. “It’s… it’s been three months, Allura. We’re no closer to finding him now then from before and… and I don’t really know anything about it but…” He closed his eyes, recalling Keith’s outburst when he’d accused them all of not caring about Shiro. “Shiro is important to Keith. This… this is hard on him.”

Leadership was hard on him too, but Lance didn’t say that. He knew Keith hadn’t wanted the role and he still felt a flash of guilt and sickness when he remembered his own reaction to hearing that Shiro had wished for Keith to take on the mantle of Black Paladin in his stead. He’d worked to correct that, to support Keith especially after the Black Lion had chosen him, but he still couldn’t entirely squash that recalled feeling, could still feel the touch of jealousy and envy that he hadn’t been chosen himself.

He pushed it all down, burying it just like his own grief of losing Blue that he couldn’t even begin to look into. It was too painful, too raw, and that’s not what anyone needed right now.

“And that knife… he _can_ find it,” Lance continued, silently adding hopefully because Blia was _huge_ and it was going to be finding a needle in a haystack but it was still possible, still a feasible chase.

Shiro wasn’t.

And while Lance didn’t know much about the knife it was clearly important to Keith — he hadn’t seen him looking that shaken since his outburst about the search for Shiro — and that meant it was important to all of them too.

Allura placed a gentle hand on his shoulder and Lance felt his cheeks darkening at the soft look Allura gave him then. “This team is lucky to have you, Lance,” she said quietly.

His blush went from pink to red.

What?

Allura was saying _what_ about him?

He was dreaming.

A subtle pinch on his opposite wrist told him that was not true and judging by the quirk to Allura’s lips she had seen it too.

She fortunately did not call him on it.

“I’m just… just looking out for the team,” Lance said lamely, tongue feeling thick.

Allura shook her head. “No. You are looking out for a friend. Please,” her hand squeezed his shoulder. “Look after Keith. I do not worry so much for our alliance as I do for his own safety. I fear…” She let out a soft sigh. “I fear that I have not realized how hard this transition and Shiro’s loss has been upon him, but there is little I can do.”

And she looked so _guilty_ at that that Lance found his own hand coming up to rest on Allura’s shoulder opposite his own. “You’re doing all you can, Princess,” he said gently.

“But it is not enough.”

Lance just squeezed her shoulder again with a slight shake of his head to refute her words.

“I appreciate your words, Lance, thank you,” she patted his hand. “I shall speak with Coran now about tomorrow. If… If there is anything I can do to assist…”

Lance gave a sheepish smile. “Well, I could use some money. Not to spend,” he quickly said, “but as, as a trap. I mean, the best way to catch a pickpocket would be to give them something to steal, right?”

“You seem to have a strange insight into the work of thieves,” Allura teased. “Should I be concerned?”

Lance grinned. “Only for my eyesight from far too many video games and television shows,” he replied and was rewarded by Allura’s light laugh and shake of her head.

It was more than that though. Lance knew he wasn’t smart, not in the way Pidge and Hunk were, but he _was_ people smart. He hadn’t been kidding when he’d told Keith his eyes didn’t miss much; he saw people, saw emotions, saw patterns. It was mixing that with common sense, a what would he do if he were a pickpocket type scenario, and it was a far more subtle approach than he knew Keith’s typical reckless hotheaded one would be.

“Please be careful tomorrow,” Allura paused on the threshold of the bridge. “I do not feel that the Blians are a particularly dangerous race, but…”

“I will,” Lance said solemnly. “We will,” he clarified. “Promise.”

“I shall hold you to it,” Allura smiled. “I must go and speak with Coran before he retires for the evening. Pleasant sleep, Lance.”

“Sweet dreams, Princess,” Lance lifted a hand in farewell and turned himself towards the living quarters.

He paused at the junction that would take him down to his room or would continue on to the training room where he instinctively knew Keith had gone.

He wavered for a tick before he shook his head and decided to head for his room. Keith didn’t want empty platitudes right now, which were all Lance could offer. It was best to let him work off whatever was—

Was that _blood?_

Ocean eyes widened at the speckle of red droplets down the hall to the training room. There were just a few, nothing serious, but…

But still…

Keith had hurt himself.

Lance wondered if he even knew he’d done it.

Lance went to the bathroom and grabbed one of the spare washcloths, wet it, and went to clean up the evidence. No need to worry anyone else, no need to draw attention to it because that would just make Keith even more defensive and upset and tomorrow was going to be trying enough already.

“I wish you were here, Shiro,” he whispered to the empty hall. “You’d know what to do.”

Silence echoed.

Lance sighed, stood up, and returned to the bathroom to rinse the cloth out.

Sleep, he told himself after watching the crimson-tinged spiral in the sink.

Things would be better tomorrow.

Hopefully.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Y’all called it, the alien that bumped into Keith was a pickpocket. I can’t get anything past you guys ;p Got it past Keith though, poor thing. But hey, he’s got Lance and Allura both looking out for him so… maybe things are going to end up okay (who am I kidding, this thing is 10 chapters).
> 
> Thank you to all who left such lovely comments. I truly appreciate them ♥ I’ve stopped responding to comments (not going into it here, you can browse my tumblr though if you’re so inclined for answers) but I do want to state in regards to one comment I saw that yes, I do indeed see and read all of them. Please don’t ever feel that just because a story or artwork or whatever may have you has a lot of comments or notes already that yours is unimportant or the author doesn’t "need" more. They’re little bright spots of joy and each one always makes me smile. I do read them (and then re-read them) and I appreciate each and every one. 
> 
> If you are enjoying the fic, please please do leave a comment below detailing what you liked about the chapter. AO3 does not allow authors to post links to financially support us and our efforts, but emotional support and validation is just as important and your comments mean the world. **Please don’t just read and run! Leave a comment! Thank you!**
> 
>  **EDIT:** Due to the response of this fic I have changed the update schedule for it. Rather than being reader driven, with my goal to give you guys updates every ~three days, it is going to a two-week update schedule every other Thursday. If there is a good response it will get an update weekly on Thursdays, so if you would like the chance for weekly updates show your support and appreciation and leave an engaging comment below.


	3. Three

Keith glowered as he trailed behind Lance in the crowded marketplace, nose and cheeks itchy from the facepaint, hair damp from the heavy hood and patience just about gone.

They’d been at this for _hours_ now and while Lance seemed to be having fun, bounding eagerly from one stall to the next, giant money bag on full display on his belt that no one had still yet tried to relieve him of, Keith most definitely was not.

He also didn’t have much of a better plan and so he was forced to follow Lance’s lead, which to start had seemed like a solid idea but just seemed to be a time waste now.

Blia, despite being under Galra control, had not been like the typical forced slavery planets like the Balmera. It was still a fully functioning society with ties to the outside world, which meant that it had a very busy and bustling marketplace that attracted aliens from all over the quadrant to shop and sell their own goods.

On the positive it meant that he and Lance didn’t stand out much, especially now that Coran had costumed them up (with heavier input from Lance this time around as they were not having a repeat of the space mall outfits) and by splitting up as they had with Lance as the quote unquote bait and Keith ready and waiting to spot a potential pickpocket (Lance had tried to suggest the reverse but Keith’s baleful stare at the idea of having to actually interact with merchants and people for any extended period of time had shot that down) they stood out even less.

But it also meant there were far, far more potential aliens to have to sort through, to look past and spot an already small Blian in the crowd.

His hand itched to hold his knife, to let it ground him as it always did, but each time it instinctively moved to do so and found the holster empty it just made the sick feeling of fear and anger flare anew. The bandage wrapped about his palm from his accidental self-inflicted wounds (gloves on again over them) was only adding to the feeling.

He hated that this was happening. He’d thought yesterday had been a waste of time, this was even moreso. He needed to be looking for Shiro (even though he had no idea where to start again) but he couldn’t leave his knife behind.

And as silly, as irrational the thought was, he thought that if he could find his knife then maybe…

Maybe he would find Shiro too.

Lance was at some type of food stall now, leaning on the counter and clearly flirting with the shopkeeper despite the fact what had to be her husband was giving Lance a very ugly look just behind her.

Lance had no self-preservation, Keith thought. And he certainly wasn’t going to get him out of this.

But as he watched the male Blian’s face morphed into a smile and he laughed at whatever Lance had said and a minute later Lance was walking away with two sticks of what sort of looked like bacon upon them.

Lance looked in his direction and jerked his chin to the right as he went to sit down on a low wall that bordered the aisle, pointedly placing one of the food items a foot away from him.

Keith slowly made his way over and leaned up against the wall.

He ignored the food.

“Keith, man, eat,” Lance told him, chomping away at his own.

“Not hungry.”

“You didn’t eat breakfast,” Lance informed him as though Keith wasn’t aware of his own schedule, “and none of us ate dinner.” Ocean eyes highlighted by dark green paint and stuck on jeweled scales caught his own. “You need it.”

“What I need is my knife. And this,” Keith gestured underneath his heavy robe at the milling crowds, “is not working.”

“Give it time,” Lance responded. He patted the still bulging money bag that Allura had loaned him (with strict instructions to not waste it but in the spirit of maintaining his cover he could make a few purchases and in particular if he spotted something particularly shiny…) with a grin. “Between this bad boy and of course the amazing Lancey-Lance charm and gossip train we should be having some interested parties soon enough.”

“... what are you doing?” Keith asked, eyes narrowing. The plan had been for Lance to just walk around, not for him to start anything more.

“Eat first.”

Keith scowled and tore off a bite of the meat; a combination of maple and honey and… garlic? Strange, but not bad.

Lance laughed brightly even though Keith knew his own expression was anything but.

“It’s simple,” Lance was facing the crowd again. “We need to make sure people know there’s some airheaded, recently come into a large inheritance, rebellious teenager sneaking out from under his handler’s thumb and wandering about the marketplace without any way to defend himself or his money, so…” Lance’s grin turned sharp and not because of the fake fangs Coran had adhered to his canines. “Get ready mullet, you may be fending them off.”

“Lance, that’s…”

Smart.

Genius.

_Dangerous._

“You’ll protect me, right, mullet?” Lance turned dancing eyes back in his direction but behind the mirth Keith could see something else.

Trust.

Complete and unwavering trust despite the way Keith had been acting of late.

It was far more than he deserved.

Keith flushed and he looked away even as he gave a short nod.

Lance laughed again and jumped down from the ledge. “Then let’s get going.”

Lance weaved through crowds like a dolphin in water, Keith was learning. It wasn’t like his own ability to always somehow, even now, be overlooked, because Lance was certainly drawing attention with his loud laugh and jangling money pouch, but more of the people just parting about him and Lance somehow always knowing exactly where to step.

And, Keith’s eyes narrowed, Lance had drawn more than passing interest from one alien.

It wasn’t the Blian pickpocket he was searching for; this figure was taller than that, on par with Lance’s height and looked almost like a rooster with red and gold feathers. He was maintaining a distance like Keith but was actively following Lance and something prickled on the back of Keith’s neck as he followed the alien’s gaze, which wasn’t looking at the money pouch at all but rather Lance’s face, sparkling with the jeweled scales adhered all about his eyes, cheeks and bridge of his nose.

On the third stall Keith saw the rooster make his move, pushing off from the wall he had been leaning against and a brief glint held in his feathered wing.

A knife?

No, Keith felt his heart stutter.

A syringe.

Drug.

If the situation hadn’t been what it was Keith would have rolled his eyes at the fact Lance always had to make everything more complicated than it had to be and attracted danger like nobody should be allowed to.

His own hand grasped around the gun Coran had given him for emergencies as his bayard had been nixed as it was too obviously related to Voltron. It was a stun gun, nothing terribly offensive, but it should be enough.

And if it wasn’t…

Keith didn’t mind throwing a few punches.

The rooster alien had already reached Lance, one wing reaching out and wrapping about Lance’s arm and he was saying something.

“Oh, why thank you,” Lance smiled easily at the alien. His fingers lifted to his cheekbones where the jewels shimmered. “My species comes in all sorts of colors.”

“Really?” the alien almost purred, a strange phenomenon with a beak. Keith saw his other wing lifting, syringe angled to stab into Lance’s opposite arm from behind. “I would love to meet—”

Keith shot the rooster in the back.

He let out a sort of strangled squawk and stumbled forward and Keith ducked around him, grabbed Lance’s arm and pulled him away from the scene before anyone had even turned to look.

“What the heck, Keith?” Lance hissed as Keith’s fingers dug bruisingly into his arm and only released once they were an entire aisle over.

“Are you serious?” Keith hissed back. “How are you so… so…”

“I was being polite!”

“He was trying to drug you!”

“I— What?”

“Some sharp eyes you have,” Keith scowled, regretting the words as Lance winced. He blamed them on the still shiver of fear and prickle on the back of his neck. He forced himself to take a breath. “Look. Just… just be _careful,_ all right? Not… not everyone is nice as you want them to be.”

A lesson he knew far too well. It didn’t matter if you wanted to think the best of people, see the best, people weren't like that. Some were cruel and violent and only in it for themselves and Lance’s naivety, even after all they’d been through and seen, was both aggravating and a welcome relief to the darkness and horrors of the rest of the world.

But it could get him hurt.

It just almost had.

The words must have come off heavier than he intended as Lance’s expression sobered and he nodded. “Okay. I will. And, um, thank you.” A smile turned up his lips, impish although still tender. “I knew you’d protect me, mullet.”

“Don’t let it happen again,” Keith said gruffly, already turning away and going back to watching from a distance.

The next varga passed by with two attempts by actual pickpocketers, one of which Lance caught, neatly twisting the alien’s arm behind her, saying something and sending her on her way, and another, this one actually a Blian but not the one Keith was hunting, that Keith intercepted with another pulse of the stun gun.

Keith was starting to feel desperation creeping back in.

He knew time was short; they didn’t have time for this. _Shiro_ didn’t have time for this. If… if he and Lance had no luck today then…

Then Keith wasn’t sure he would get another chance.

Another varga later and Keith’s eyes were starting to hurt from the constant searching; both of the crowds of very alike-looking Blians although he would know the pickpocket he was certain the moment he spotted him, and keeping an eye on Lance and making sure he stayed out of trouble. Lance though seemed to have taken Keith’s warning to heart and while he was still drawing attention his left hand kept brushing against his hip where a stun gun rested beneath the tunic.

Lance was stepping away from where he’d just made some sort of beverage purchase, reminding Keith of how parched his own throat was, when Keith’s eyes were drawn to a figure moving low in the crowd.

His breath caught.

He knew that face.

Keith _moved,_ barreling through the aliens in front of him.

He was not going to get away.

Lance must have felt his gaze as he looked up, realization dawning on his face.

And with a fluid motion Keith was not expecting Lance reached out and clamped hands down on the pickpocket’s shoulders, pivoting him around and successfully trapping him in a tight embrace against him. Keith could make out the hint of a blaster poking into the Blian’s side and the alien’s face had gone a light green with what Keith hoped was fear.

Good.

“Over here,” Keith jerked his chin towards an offshoot to the main market, his own hand tight on his gun, and Lance marched the would-be-thief forward into the dead-end alley. After a moment of thought Lance loosened his hold and the alien stumbled forward, sinking to the ground and looking up at them with wide eyes.

“Please, I didn’t do anything,” the Blian protested, voice high. “I didn’t—”

“Quiet,” Keith snapped and the Blian’s jaw snapped shut with a ragged sob. He withdrew his own gun and the alien let out another cry. “You have something of mine.”

The alien shook his head. “No, no I don’t. I’ve never seen you before, I—”

Keith fired an intimidation shot, not that the alien knew it was only a stunner, and it impacted in the ground just in front of him.

He let out another sob and jerked backwards.

“Hey!” and to Keith’s surprise Lance was rounding on _him_ , eyes flashing with fire. “He’s a _kid.”_

Keith swallowed down his immediate retort as he looked back to the huddled alien, who he had noted in his search was younger than many they’d seen but hadn’t thought much of it.

Lance was right though.

The alien was a kid.

And he was _scaring_ a _child_.

Keith felt something curdle in his stomach as open fear mingled with tears stared up at him.

Shiro…

Shiro would be so disappointed in him.

But even more than that…

Keith felt disappointed in himself. Scared, too.

He…

He wasn’t a bully.

He wasn’t.

Or, well, he hadn’t been.

God.

“You have something of mine,” he repeated, voice more even and he sensed Lance untense next to him. “A knife.”

“A knife?” the alien repeated.

“I… I loaned it to one of the Voltron Paladins,” Keith came up with the cover on the spot. There was no way he could admit to being a Paladin himself, not after the way he’d just _terrified a child_ and been _glad about it._ “He said it was stolen and described you.”

The kid at least seemed to believe it if his low sob rather than an accusation counted. “I… I’m _sorry,”_ he whimpered. “I shouldn’t have. I knew I shouldn’t, but… but…”

More tears were gathering and Keith shifted uncomfortably.

Lance though was kneeling — no self-preservation, Keith noted, again what if this was a trap? — in front of the alien and reached out one dark-green painted hand and gently laid it on the bald head. “Why did you steal the Paladin’s knife?” he asked softly. “You had to know that was dangerous.”

“I know, I know,” he sniffled.

Lance waited patiently, Keith not so much but he held himself from saying anything else.

His stomach was still twisting.

“My dad’s sick,” he said after a few moments. “He can’t work. And we have no m-money. I…” he glanced up, met Lance’s eyes for the briefest of seconds and then turned his gaze back down. “It… it looked expensive. I knew I could sell it for a lot.”

“And did you sell it?” Lance asked. The kid looked up in Keith’s direction and then away before he gave a short nod.

Keith’s hands clenched into fists.

Fuck.

“Do you know who you sold it to?”

“Y-yeah. Mister Blarkin. I, I can take you there.”

“We’d really appreciate that,” Lance smiled and to Keith’s utter surprise the Blian managed a watery one of his own. “That knife… it’s very important to my friend.”

Friend?

Keith tried not to react to the inclusion even as he looked towards Lance.

Were they really friends?

He didn’t know.

“I’m really sorry,” the child whispered, looking back towards Keith but not meeting his eyes.

Keith could see Lance waiting for him to say something but he couldn’t offer up that it was fine because it _wasn’t._ Not until the knife was back in his possession.

Lance offered a hand to the Blian in the ensuing silence to pull him from the ground but then kept it wrapped tightly in his own, possibly in comfort but also to prevent him from ditching them.

“So tell me about your family,” Lance said as they moved out of the alley and Keith tried not to gape. Lance was making _conversation_ with the kid? It was one thing to be civil, it was another to be _friendly_. “You have any siblings?”

“Yeah, two little sisters. I look after them.”

“What a good big brother you are. Your mom must really proud.”

“I hope so. She…” the alien’s’ foot scuffed on the ground. “She died last year and—”

Keith stopped listening.

Something harsh was twisting in his chest as well as his stomach now.

The kid’s story didn’t make what he’d did any less wrong, but…

But Keith understood. A little bit.

The Blian led them about a quarter mile away and to a shop stall that looked to be a pawn shop.

“Wait here,” Keith moved in front of them both.

Time for him to handle things his way.

He ducked under the awning and felt his face morph immediately into a scowl at the shopkeeper.

An Unilu. Why was it always an Unilu?

“Ah, welcome, welcome,” the Unilu smiled. “What can I do for you, my good gentle alien?”

“I’m looking for a knife.”

“Oh, splendid, splendid. I have many exquisite blades that may interest you.” The Unilu’s four arms were already digging underneath the counter and pulling out a number of knives.

None of them were his.

“Let me rephrase this,” Keith leaned on the counter. “I’m looking for a knife that was stolen from me and sold to you yesterday.”

The Unilu’s eyes widened before his smile sharpened. “Ah. You must mean the luxite blade. It is yours, you say? Interesting, as only Galrans typically possess them.” His eyes peered at Keith’s face as though expecting his skin to turn purple and eyes yellow. “I am sure the council would be very interested in—”

Keith slammed his fist onto the counter, causing the knives there to jump. “I’m only asking nicely once more.”

“Or you will what, Galran scum?” the Unilu scowled back and Keith resisted the urge to bristle. “Kill me?”

And while the Unilu wasn’t a terrified child Keith could see the flicker in his eyes and he felt that becoming far too familiar sickness rear up inside.

All he ever did was scare people.

What…

What kind of Paladin, what kind of leader, was he really?

“I just want my blade,” he said, trying to mimic Lance and his softer, sincerer tones.

The Unilu leaned backwards, all arms crossing over his front. “I already sold it.”

Sold…

It?

“What?” Keith croaked.

How?

It had barely been a day.

“I am not just a mere pawnshop owner,” the Unilu looked a little smug now. “I have… connections. And there are always those who seek a valuable item such as a luxite blade.”

“Who did you sell it to?” Keith demanded.

“None of your business.”

“Tell me.”

The alien smirked at him. “No.”

“Tell—”

A coin sack clanged onto the counter next to Keith’s elbow.

“What my friend is trying to say,” Lance smiled at the Unilu, “is we’d be _very_ appreciative if you could give us the name of your buyer.”

The Unilu’s eyes were focused on the bag.

“How much is in there?” the Unilu looked from it to Lance.

“Fitting payment,” Lance’s grin widened, “for relevant information on a stolen knife.”

“Lance,” Keith hissed (where was the kid, what was Lance doing?), but Lance stomped on his foot without breaking formation and Keith bit back the resulting yelp.

That _hurt._

“I sold it to an associate of the Merklan Group,” the Unilu said. “Very dangerous group, young man. Not to be trifled with.”

“I’ll take my chances,” Lance smiled dangerously. “But that’s not quite enough for all of this,” he rattled the bag. “What else you got for me?”

“The associate was headed for the Nevarra quadrant,” the alien said. “A member of the Tylina species. Male, black coloring with white eyes. Wears a lot of gold jewelry.”

Keith couldn’t believe this was actually working.

“And this Merklan Group, they have a base there?”

“One of many, one of their larger outposts although I am not familiar with which planet. Very secretive organization, you understand.”

“You’ve been very helpful,” Lance pushed the bag forward. “Enjoy.”

It was Lance’s turn to pull Keith away and he hurriedly did so as the Unilu began to undo the multiple knots holding the bag together.

“Hurry, hurry,” Lance chanted at him.

Keith’s eyes widened and he felt a smirk despite the circumstances — his knife was still missing, it was still _gone_ — playing on his face. “What was in the bag?”

“Mostly rocks,” Lance said, “with a few coins on top for that nice jangling effect.”

They were an entire block over now and Keith could still hear the Unilu’s shriek of rage and Lance laughed at it in delight.

Keith’s amusement faded though as Lance directed him over to a small bench and fountain where the Blian kid was sitting.

He hadn’t run off? Why was he still here?

“How much did you get for the knife, kid?” Lance asked, sinking onto the bench next to him.

“What? I don’t—”

“How much did that Unilu give you?”

The kid muttered a number and Keith’s sensitive ears picked it up.

The _fuck?_

“Three hundred GAC?” Lance repeated.

A luxite blade like that was easily fifty thousand.

And three hundred wouldn’t go very far, not for this kid’s situation.

Lance dug into one of his shopping bag purchases where Keith could hear the clink of coins that had previously been in the satchel.

“Open your hands,” Lance ordered and the kid gasped as a pile of gold was placed into them, all sixteen fingers cupping the precious bundle.

“I, I can’t take this, mister, I—”

“That’s about ten thousand GAC,” Lance told him. “I’m giving it to you on the promise you won’t pickpocket anymore.”

“I…” the Blian’s eyes were welling once more with tears. “I, I pr-promise.”

“Good. Spend that wisely, make it last. If you need more, work _honestly,_ your dad wouldn’t want you stealing for him.”

“Y-yes. I…”

“Put it away now, _you_ don’t want to be pickpocketed,” Lance teased gently and the alien transferred the coins into a pouch on his hip.

A moment later he was flinging his arms about Lance and nearly toppling him off the bench.

“Aw, kid,” Lance murmured, returning it.

Keith turned away, feeling like he was intruding.

Feeling guilty.

He’d let his temper take control, let anger blind him and make him rash. He knew he wasn’t the friendliest person, knew he didn’t always get cues or understand situations, but he’d _never_ wanted to scare a kid.

God.

What the fuck was wrong with him?

He _knew_ better, he knew what it was like to be on the other end and he’d still…

God.

Something touched his hand and Keith barely resisted startling, purple eyes widening as he realized it was the Blian’s eight-fingered hand lightly wrapping about his own.

“I really am sorry, mister,” the kid sniffled.

Keith let out a silent sigh, turned and took a knee in front of the kid, just as Shiro used to do for him, and put his free hand on the small shoulder. “I know you are,” he said softly, trying to keep his voice low but aware Lance could hear and almost able to hear his smile. “And I’m sorry too. For yelling. And… and scaring you.”

“It’s okay. I… I know you wouldn’t hurt me.”

Keith blinked. Really? Because he hadn’t known that.

“You’re the Black Paladin.”

Oh.

Fuck.

“I didn’t say anything,” Lance called out from behind, sounding surprised too.

“I won’t tell, promise,” the Blian whispered. “Promise. And… and I hope you get your knife back. And I’m sorry again. I… I wish I could help.”

“Take care of your dad,” Keith told him after swallowing thickly. “And your sisters. That’s enough.”

The alien nodded solemnly. “I will.”

“Go,” Keith gave him a gentle shove.

Within a few ticks the kid had disappeared into the crowd and Keith slowly stood back up, Lance coming to stand at his side.

“You okay?”

Keith gave a noncommittal shrug.

The guilt had settled now but the anxiousness and fear was rekindling in its place and Keith wished he could be angry to wipe it all out but he felt…

Drained.

Lance’s hand descended carefully on his shoulder and Keith didn’t shrug it off as he might have earlier. “We’ll get it back,” Lance promised quietly. “We will.”

We.

Not Keith. Not that _he_ would get it back. We.

Lance was still going to help him even with all the times he’d fucked up today, even though Keith had shot down his earlier offer.

And although Keith knew Lance couldn’t actually guarantee that promise, knew the lead was tenuous at best…

He believed it.

“Thanks,” he whispered.

Lance squeezed his shoulder and turned. “Come on. Let’s head back. Gotta start on that lead and,” he let out a nervous laugh, “we’re out of Allura’s money. But,” he grinned and rummaged in one of the bags and pulled out two strange looking bottles; the beverage purchase he’d made just before. He handed one to Keith and eagerly popped the cap on his own, bubbles fizzing out.

“To finding your knife,” Lance held up the bottle.

“To… to having my back… even when I’m being a jerk,” Keith put in quietly.

Lance grinned, but gently, accepting the apology. “I’ll drink to that. Cheers, man.”

“Cheers,” Keith echoed and tentatively knocked his bottle against Lance’s.

The resulting clink sounded like a promise indeed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lots of things happening in here and the angst combined with fluff and back to angst has got me right in the feels ♥ Amidst all of that did you happen to catch the cameo from another fic of mine? Jaja ;p Also, wouldn’t Lance just look lovely with little sparkly scales all over him? Just me?
> 
> Since I had a couple comments about the update schedule I wanted to address this (as briefly as a I can) here. I love writing fanfiction. So so much. But posting it? Not so much sometimes. It doesn’t matter if the fic is pre-written from one to chapter fifty, if it’s a one-shot, or if it’s an incomplete fic; validation and appreciation to the author for posting said content is important (and not just here, on my fic, on all fics you read). It’s disheartening to post and see nearly half ( which is what happened between chapters one and two here) of your commenters disappear, especially when I was trying to do a reader-driven update model for this fic which could have had 2-3 updates a week. So I changed it to the other extreme and am filling in that weekly space with snippet fics and maybe a one-shot here and there instead. Please note that I, nor any other author, is under obligation to post a fic quickly (or even at all) so please, respect my decision on this matter. 
> 
> _Strength_ could still upload weekly on Thursdays if there is a good response (meaning quality, not quantity, please do not spam the chapter) to updates. So if you would like to see a chapter quicker, be an appreciative reader and leave a comment for the author. Even a thank you goes a long way too; a thank you for writing the fic, sharing it, and hopefully brightening up your day. Let’s spread a little love around here, huh?
> 
> Thank you to those who did leave kind, engaging comments (i.e., what you liked about the chapter/fic). I appreciate them. Hope to hear from you and see you all next update ♥


	4. Four

“The Nevarra System?” Allura repeated as Keith relayed where the buyer had gone, finding her and Coran and the bridge after they’d returned from their failed retrieval expedition after a quick stop to the bathroom to scrub off body paint and remove embellishments and change back into their own clothes from the costumes. “Keith that is…”

“A hodgepodge of villainy and all sorts of dangerous folk,” Coran filled in. “Not somewhere for a Paladin of Voltron to be found. In fact,” he shuddered, “I have no doubt that should we go there that there will be more than one bounty hunter gunning for our heads.” He gulped and wrapped his hands about his neck.

“I can go myself,” Keith said.

“It is too dangerous,” Coran shook his head. “The Nevarra System is cut off from external communications by its moons; you would have no backup whatsoever, lad, if things went sleuth.”

“South,” Lance corrected idly where he was leaning against the bridge console and looking at the star map Coran had pulled up, a few jewels still clinging stubbornly around his left eye and some on the bridge of his nose. “And Coran,” his gaze focused. “He wouldn’t be alone. I’ll go too.”

He’d promised after all.

“I regretfully agree with Coran,” Allura said. “Not only is the system violent but Voltron cannot be down one Paladin let alone two for an extended period of time, of which I have no doubt this journey would entail. I am sorry, Keith, but—”

“No,” Keith cut her off. “Princess—”

“I understand—”

“No, you _don’t_ ,” Keith slammed a fist down on the console, denting the metal.

Allura’s nose flared and Lance hurriedly interjected himself between the two before she opened her mouth and said something that would no doubt escalate the situation. She was already rather upset about the fact Lance had given away their entire spending budget for the next several movements, softening some when he’d told her the circumstances, but said that he could not help every single person like that in the universe and that money had been needed to purchase repair materials.

Lance felt bad, he did, but he still didn’t regret what he’d done. He resolved he was going to have to make it up to Allura, although he didn’t yet know how. Something to be addressed later as right now he was more concerned about Keith and Allura saying something they would regret later.

He’d seen how Keith had reacted when he realized what he’d done with the Blian kid, he knew the other boy was more… reactive than normal, that the loss of this knife was making Keith upset and he thought maybe scared and it was coming out as anger and harshness.

He’d told Keith when the Black Lion chose him to be the leader that he would support him and be his right hand. This maybe hadn’t been entirely what he’d meant by that, but he stood by his words. Keith needed support now and Lance could make sure he had it.

“Okay, okay, let’s all calm down,” he said, smiling at both of them and receiving a blank stare from Allura and a scowl from Keith.

Well okay then...

“I’m going,” Keith snapped, stepping to the left to look at Allura around Lance.

“You are the Black Paladin, the leader of Voltron,” Allura retorted. “You cannot—”

“I never wanted to be the leader!” Keith roared and Lance found himself taking a step back. “I never wanted to be the Black Paladin! I just…” Keith’s voice sounded choked now. “I just…”

He just wanted Shiro back.

He wanted his brother.

He wanted his knife, his last connection to his parents.

He…

He didn’t want to be the leader anymore.

“Keith,” Allura’s voice had gentled. “The Black Lion chose you.”

“She chose wrong,” Keith said quietly, something heavy settling in his stomach at the admission.

He forced himself to meet Allura’s jeweled eyes. “She chose wrong,” he repeated. “And… and I can’t be the leader anymore.”

“Keith—”

“No,” he flung his hand out, voice rising again. “No. I never should have been the leader. I don’t know why Shiro wanted this. I’m—”

“You _are_ a good leader,” Lance interjected, feeling his chest seize. Maybe when Keith had first been named leader he’d have wanted something like this, but…

But no.

This was wrong.

 “Keith, man, look. We’re all learning. _All_ of us,” he emphasized. “It’s—”

“No,” Keith interrupted him. “No, I’m done.”

Keith sucked in a shaky breath as his own words registered.

“I’m done,” he said again. “I…”

“Keith, think about what you are saying,” Allura stepped forward and Keith found himself taking a step back. “Please, you cannot…” she swallowed, throat bobbing. “You cannot _quit_ Voltron.”

Keith knew that.

Sort of.

He could, technically. He could quit and look for Shiro on his own without anything to hold him back. He could track down his knife without anyone second guessing him.

But…

But he’d be leaving the others to fend for themselves against the Galrans, against Lotor, and they would not be able to form Voltron.

They could be hurt.

They...

They could _die._

And if that happened he would _never_ be able to forgive himself.

But he’d never wanted this responsibility. He’d stayed with Voltron because Shiro had, because he wasn’t willing to lose the only family he had left. But Shiro was gone now and the others…

They weren’t family. He wasn’t even sure if they were really friends. Teammates, yes, but beyond that…

And that was his own fault. He kept to himself, he preferred to be alone. It was easier that way when people ultimately left as everyone always did.

Even…

Even Shiro (even if it wasn’t his fault, he hadn’t meant to disappear).

But if Keith left… _he_ would be the one leaving _them_. It was one thing to wall himself off, to not allow others in because he knew they’d only hurt him later.

But this wasn’t about him. This was about their safety and Keith didn’t want to see them hurt. He could acknowledge he cared about them that much. He’d been… been admittedly _scared_ when he saw the alien with the syringe aiming for Lance, at the implication of what could have happened.

He…

He did care.

He cared about the universe too, about Voltron’s mission. He wanted to help others, wanted to bring peace and freedom and hope to those who had not ever known it and even moreso to those who had once had happiness and then had it ripped away.

He knew how that felt.

He wanted to spare anyone else that pain.

But…

But Shiro could be in pain. He could be being _tortured_ or, or…

Keith tried not to think about it.

Shiro would also never forgive him if he abandoned the others to save him and something happened in his absence. He’d already disappointed Shiro, getting kicked out of the Garrison that Shiro had worked _so_ hard to get him into. He was disappointing Allura, disappointing the team, ruining _everything,_ fucking up everything like always.

Just like they’d always told him, he was always messing up, always a failure, a disappointment, couldn’t do anything right, no wonder no one wanted him—

Keith realized he’d tuned out, coming back in as Lance put a hand on his shoulder and Keith jerked backwards.

“I know,” he gasped, breath hard to come by as though he’d been training for hours. “I know. I just… I…”

His chest felt tight and his vision was starting to tunnel.

He tried to suck in air and his lungs didn’t seem to want work anymore.

“Keith?” he heard Lance calling his name, but it was echoing as though from far away.

Warm hands were clasping his shoulders from behind and he was being turned, a flash or orange and peach filling his vision.

Coran.

“Keith, lad,” his voice sounded distant too. “Take a breath for me. Nice and easy, just like this,” and there was the exaggerated sound of an inhale.

Keith tried to mimic it as his legs wobbled beneath him and only Coran’s grip held him up.

“Good, good, and again, lad. That’s it, you’re all right, everything is all right.”

Keith sucked in another strangled inhale and then another.

He dimly heard Lance and Allura’s voices behind him but he couldn’t make out their words.

After ten inhales, counted for him by Coran, Keith managed a nod and a gasped out, “I’m fine.”

“You are not,” Coran told him, concern etched into his face.

Keith shook his head in denial and stepped backwards, steadier now, and Coran’s hands lifted from his shoulders, although they hung there as though he hadn’t wanted to.

“I’m fine,” Keith repeated, as if he said it enough times it would be true. He turned and Allura and Lance were there, concern filling their expressions as well and the slightest confusion to Allura’s.

Keith supposed he should be grateful it wasn’t disappointment.

 _He_ would be disappointed in him. Having a… a fucking panic attack over _nothing._

And they thought he was cut out to be the leader.

“Keith, hey,” Lance’s voice was pitched low and a very careful hand reached out, landing on Keith’s upper arm. The smaller boy stiffened but did not pull away.

Lance tried for what he hoped was a calming smile as Keith’s eyes were still pinpricked and he looked one word away from merely bolting, and he absolutely should not be alone like this. Lance was more than familiar with panic attacks; Hunk had them regularly (although considering how scary space was he seemed to have them less up here after the first couple months) and Lance was an old hat at calming him down.

Seeing Keith like that though…

Had been very unexpected. And yet…

Yet not.

This had been building for a while, three months a while since Shiro disappeared, and for all his talk about supporting Keith as leader Lance had never really talked to him about… well, anything.

He still didn’t know why the luxite blade was so important.

“I’m fine,” Keith said again, purple eyes lifting to meet Lance’s and they were surprisingly clear.

Lance gave a slow nod even though he knew this wasn’t over, not really, squeezed Keith’s arm and retreated his hand as Keith didn’t seem to be overly fond of extended physical contact.

“I’m not going to quit,” Keith continued, voice quiet, eyes flicking up towards Allura and then down towards his feet.

It reminded Lance of the Blian child.

“Although,” Keith swallowed, “I don’t know if…”

“You are our Black Paladin,” Allura said, voice clear and firm, if that same gentler cadence. She stepped forward, drawing even with Lance. “Being such, being the leader of Voltron, does not mean one must be perfect. That is a mantle none should be forced to bear. As Lance said, we are all still learning how to work together, and it would be unrealistic to not encounter obstacles in that process. That said,” she lifted a hand before she lowered it to her side as Keith rolled his shoulders in. “That said, it is my hope that when we do encounter an obstacle we reach out to our fellow team members for assistance. We are a team, Keith, and we must support one another.”

Keith gave a jerky nod.

“And taking my own advice into consideration… this knife is important to you, moreso than I first believed. Is that correct?”

Keith paused before he gave another nod.

“The universe cannot afford to lose Voltron for any length of time,” Allura said gently, “but it certainly cannot afford to lose you, Keith, which I fear may happen should we continue along this path as we are.”

Keith lifted his head up in a rush.

Was Allura saying…?

“Four quintants,” she said. “It is all I can offer. We will do what we can to hold off Lotor’s forces for that time, but any longer is unfeasible. You will need to take the supply ship again, as the Galra cannot know that Voltron is unavailable, and on that same vein must go not as a Paladin but as an independent party meaning no bayard. Is… is this an acceptable offer?”

She was giving him four days to track down his knife, to follow the lead he had. And if he couldn’t find it in that time, that would be it.

It wasn’t ideal but…

But it was fair. More than fair, when Keith stopped to think of all that Allura was risking for his own personal quest and not even prying for the reason why it meant so much to him.

“Yes,” Keith nodded, breathed. “Yes. I…” He looked up to meet Allura’s gaze and this time held it. “Thank you.”

He meant it more than he could actually say.

Allura inclined her head.

“I’m going too,” Lance chimed in.

Keith remembered Lance’s promise.

We.

Still, he shook his head. “It’s too dangerous.”

“Which is exactly why I’m going.” Lance’s eyes weren’t quite flashing as they had in the alley but there was a fire burning all the same. His voice softened. “You don’t have to do this alone. We’re a team, right?”

Keith had made a pledge to himself after the horrible first encounter with Lotor that he would listen to his team.

Lance was talking sense and he needed to listen. It would be a good idea to have someone to watch his back in such hostile territory and…

And he wasn’t sure what it meant but the feeling of not being _alone_ in this was… was comforting.

But Lance was needed here. He was already leaving them down Voltron with his absence, he couldn’t take away another Paladin and Lion combination.

“I agree with Lance,” Allura said and it spoke to the situation that Lance didn’t even turn in Allura’s direction at the praise. “This is a dangerous mission and as I said before,” her eyes were soft, “we cannot afford to lose you.”

Something warm prickled in his chest even as he told himself not to read into it.

Allura meant they couldn’t lose their leader, lose a Voltron Paladin, not another one.

And yet…

Yet part of him dared to hope it might be something more. That they couldn’t lose him, Keith, not his role.

He let the ember linger but did not fan it to life. He couldn’t afford to have it crushed when reality came knocking again.

“Take the rest of today to supply and rest up,” Allura said, gaze switching between Keith and Lance when he didn’t answer as he had no idea what exactly to say.  “I shall open a wormhole in the morning for your journey there.”

Keith nodded. “Thank you,” he directed to Allura, and then angled his head in Lance’s direction, meeting the ocean eyes. “And… thank you.”

Lance smiled easily at him, as though Keith hadn’t been yelling and then panicking and freaking them all out just minutes ago. “No need for thanks, mullet. We drank on it, remember? That’s _almost_ as good as a pinky promise. We’ll get your knife back, together.”

Keith gave another nod and this time when he left the bridge he didn’t quite feel so much like he was running away.

Even if…

Even if he still sort of was.

Lance looked to Allura,  as the door slid closed behind Keith, surprised to find her looking intently at him.

“...what?” he asked, finger reaching up to pick at one of the scales and feeling his cheeks darken under her continued stare. “I know I have something on my face,” he put out to try and lighten her look.

“Something is wrong with Keith.”

And that was a bit blunt, but…

But it was accurate.

“He has had a lot of stress placed upon him,” Coran said quietly, joining their small impromptu circle. “And I admit that I too did not realize how much Number One’s loss was affecting him.”

“Kinda hard to when he doesn’t talk to us,” Lance said, as much an attempt to comfort Coran’s downtrodden expression and ease the gnawing ache inside him at how bad things really were.

Keith had just…

Just almost _quit_ Voltron.

“No, he does not,” Allura said softly. “But…” Jewel eyes met Lance’s. “He will speak to you.”

Lance blinked. “Me?”

She nodded and Coran let out a soft hum of agreement.

“I know the two of you have had your differences,” Allura said, “but not only are you the Red Paladin now and Voltron’s right hand you have shown an admirable ability to connect with all members of this team.” She laid a gentle hand on his shoulder and Lance felt his cheeks heat at the proximity and the compliment. The second one in two days? What alternate reality had he stumbled into?

“It is not a skill that should be overlooked, although I admit I have done so in the past,” Allura continued and he forced his eyes back from her hand to her face. “But you have truly stepped up, Lance, in Shiro’s absence and… and I feel that if Keith were to confide in anyone it would be yourself.”

That was…

What?

Him?

_Keith?_

“As you told me, this is more than about his knife, although clearly it is important to him as well,” Allura said, squeezing his shoulder. “You are the one that saw that, Lance. And while this excursion is not ideal for numerous reasons, I hope that it might provide us all some insight and ways in which to better support Keith in his role as team leader.”

And while this wasn’t an assigned mission, not really, Lance felt that this might be the most important one he had yet gone on since launching into space.

“I’ll look after him,” Lance promised.

“And yourself, Lance,” Coran said. Lance’s eyes widened as Coran only tended to use his name when it was important. “Make sure you look out for yourself too, lad. Number Four has good instincts but he is…”

Wasn’t thinking entirely clearly. Lance had seen that firsthand with the Blian child.

“It is a dangerous place you are going to,” Coran said, “and you will be amongst those who should they know of your Paladin status will be more likely to turn you over to the Galra than provide assistance. _Please_ be careful.”

“I will,” Lance said quietly, meeting Coran’s jeweled gaze. “I promise, Coran.”

“Good lad,” Coran heaved out a sigh. “Now,” he brightened and with it the lingering tension vanished. “You and Number Four will need some new outfits. I was thinking bounty hunter-esque.”

“Heck yeah,” Lance grinned, moving into the more lighthearted territory with relief.  “And something maybe with a hood? I look _amazing_ in hoods.”

Coran snapped his fingers. “I have just the thing.”

“I shall leave you two to it then,” Allura smiled. “And Lance?” she gave his shoulder one last squeeze and Lance missed her hand as soon as she pulled it away. “Thank you.”

She left with a parting smile before Lance could figure out what to say to it.

“Let’s go, my boy,” Coran clapped him on the shoulder and steered him towards the opposite bridge door. “We have much to do.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And mission start :) 
> 
> If you are enjoying the fic please do take a moment to leave a comment with what you liked about it. What takes you **minutes** to read can take an author **hours** , if not **days, weeks** or even **months** to create. Please show your authors appreciation for all their hard work, free of any cost to you. Thank you to those who do so, it means a lot ♥
> 
> Also, real quick, my zine ( _”A Collection of Langst”_ ) just launched for preorder sale. It will be benefiting the amazing charity Warrior Canine Connection so if you’re interested you can **[check it out here](https://icymakesazine.tumblr.com/post/184200328869/zine-preorders-are-open)**. Thank you for your support and helping me support such a life-changing organization for our veterans!


	5. Five

“So…”

Lance let the word hang in the silent cockpit as it had been for the past varga as Keith steered the supply pod towards the first planet of the Nevarra System, Xindew (of which Lance knew was going to be a pain in the butt as every planet started with “Xin” and wasn’t that the worst naming system ever?)

Keith inclined his head an inch, surprised it had taken Lance this long to actually try and start up a conversation. Then again, he’d been distracted by the retracting hood of his cloak and going through the small armory of guns Coran had given him; a large sniper rifle that would strap across his back, a blaster and a pistol.

Keith had his own set of weapons pressed upon him; a sword in a dark sheath and a knife he had placed into a new holster and black belt that matched the lightweight black chestplate and arm and leg guards that had gone over their Paladin underamour. His outfit was identical to Lance’s save his cloak hung all the way to his ankles and Lance’s cut off just below his back.

They looked like mercenaries, bounty hunters, and they looked _dangerous_.

Or, they would if Lance would stop grinning like an idiot every time he summoned the dark hood and then sent it back into the top of the cloak.

“Your knife,” Lance said, and while he still sounded casual, was still lounging in the passenger seat, Keith could feel the change.

His stomach clenched.

He didn’t know how much he wanted to really talk about it, but…

But Lance deserved to know.

“It was my mom’s,” Keith said before Lance could speak again.

His hands absolutely were not shaking on the controls as he waited for the inevitable stream of questions that brought forth. They all knew at this point Keith’s mom was at least part Galran (and by extension could probably figure out that the knife had once been hers) but no one had ever asked him more or how he hadn’t known he himself was Galran (he remembered Allura’s _anger_ at the reveal and he cringed still recalling how quick she had been to turn on him for a bloodline he hadn’t even known and couldn’t control) and he was grateful as he didn’t know those answers.

He’d barely known anything about her. He still didn’t even know her name.

“Ah,” Lance said, and his voice was still light.

He didn’t say anything else.

Keith glanced at him in his peripheral, but Lance was looking at the starscape rushing past.

That was it?

He untensed ever so.

Lance saw the change and let out a silent sigh of his own. He wanted to know more (especially as his own thought had been confirmed that the knife was Keith’s mom’s but he’d never wanted to assume in case maybe it had been some distant relative because that meant then that… that Keith’s mom had been likely more Galran than human, had been a _Blade_ and that thought was staggering as to its implications) but he saw the way Keith closed in and he wasn’t one to press in this circumstance.

“I never knew her.”

The words surprised Keith as much as Lance, as his foot slipped off the dashboard with a _thunk._

Why had he just said that?

Lance had let it drop, hadn’t pushed and he’d just…

“That has to have been rough,” Lance said gently, carefully.

Keith supposed he shouldn’t be surprised that was Lance’s reaction given his own large family that he spoke about on almost any occasion. And yet, he didn’t say anything else, didn’t add in some anecdote about his own mom.

Keith gave a small roll of his shoulders in answer, lips pressed together tightly so nothing else spilled out without his consent, grateful that Lance wasn’t pouncing on it.

Surprising given Keith’s experience with his fellow Paladin, but yet not. Not anymore.

Not since…

Since Shiro.

“So,” Lance said after a few more moments, voice rising into something like a laugh, “are we there yet?”

Keith turned and looked at him with a raised eyebrow. Lance could see as clearly as him that they had almost a varga still to go.

“Keith,” Lance whined, reaching out and poking him on the upper arm where there was no armor. “Are we there yet?”

“...no,” Keith said slowly.

Lance let out a sigh and slumped in his seat with an exaggerated cross of his arms.

Silence reigned for all of three minutes before Lance was poking him again and repeating the question.

“No,” Keith snapped and to his confusion Lance _laughed_ at the response.

“Have you never gone on a car trip before?” Lance chuckled. “ _Dios,_ I always thought my papá was going to throw us out of the car when we got like that. Even to the grocery store.” He shook his head in clearly fond remembrance before something that looked more wistful stole across his face.

Homesickness. Keith had seen it in his fellow Paladins before, notably Lance and Hunk, whereas he had no home to return to and Pidge was focused on finding the rest of her family although he’d seen her grow quiet too at times.

But Lance wouldn’t know that Keith had no one and no place to go; none of them did.

He had no idea that Keith had spent almost half his life in the foster system where the only time he was generally in a car was going from one home to the next after he got kicked out because no one wanted the _strange, quiet, aggressive problem child._ He and his pop had taken a few trips before he’d… but it had always just been the two of them and Pop had let him sit in the front seat even though he shouldn’t have and Keith would play with the radio and they’d sing and—

Keith realized he’d gotten lost in the memory but a quick glance to Lance showed the other boy didn’t seem to have noticed, caught up in his own.

Keith wondered what it must be like to have a mom and a dad, to have actual siblings who cared, to have a _home_ to return to.

He’d had a taste of it, after the foster system. Shiro. Shiro had been his brother. The Garrison had been his home. He’d been _happy,_ something he hadn’t thought was possible after those long, long years in the system.

It was all gone now.

He needed to focus. He was taking time away from looking for Shiro with this quest and yet… yet he _couldn’t_ leave his knife behind. He couldn’t lose it too.

Focus.

“We should go over the plan again,” Keith said.

Lance blinked at him and then tipped his head against the seat with a groan. “Again? _Dios mío,_ Keith. We land,” Lance ticked off a finger. “We conceal the ship. We go into Xindew’s main hub and walk around and _I_ make subtle inquires and you stand there and look intimidating.” Keith scowled at that, as Lance had been insistent that he do the talking and given Keith’s recent attempts at that he’d been forced to concede the matter for now. “We try and find this associate, see if we can haggle with him,” Lance’s other hand patted the bag of coin Coran had snuck to him from the castle’s vaults with a wink and a _don’t tell the Princess,_ “and if not we either steal it from him or fight him for it. And if it so happens we have no leads here we pick up, go to another planet and repeat, and maybe find the Merklan Group base too for a burglary of the century if needed. Did I miss anything?”

It all sounded so straightforward but Keith knew it wouldn’t be that simple. _Especially_ with Lance, who Keith had noted before seemed to attract trouble like a magnet. But they’d taken every precaution they could against that. Their outfits were changed, their weapons too, and although they hadn’t added any cosmetic differences or colors like Blia their faces (and species) were not known and so long as they didn’t make a spectacle should be able to keep under the radar.

Hopefully.

His silence to Lance’s laundry list seemed to be acceptance enough and Lance didn’t strike up conversation again, instead kicking his feet back onto the dashboard, leaning his head back and closing his eyes.

His breathing evened into sleep within a few minutes and Keith shook his head, exasperated and amused all the same at Lance’s ability to nap almost anywhere. He’d seen it around the castle (kitchen table, lounge, training room floor during a break between sets) but on a bumpy transport shuttle was something else.

When Keith touched down about a varga later it was all things considered a smooth landing but Lance jolted awake with a line of drool on his chin and another _thunk_ of his feet sliding off followed by a soft _ow._

“We’re here,” Keith announced.

“And here I thought we were stopping for a bathroom break,” Lance grinned. His face sobered a moment later though, the contrast startling. “You ready?”

“Yeah.”

Lance slung his sniper rifle onto his back, straps going over the back of the cloak and the barrel of it brushing the nape of his neck, and Keith secured his sword; slightly broader than he was used to but it had been the only one not in Altean teal and white.

They exited the ship silently, Keith engaging the cloaking cover that didn’t make it quite invisible but it blended in well enough with Xindew’s dark and rocky landscape, and turned as one towards where the town — Xindew’s only one, Coran had informed them as the planet was more of a moon than anything and served as an entry hub of the system — lit up against the dark purple sky.

The nearly half varga hike into town – Keith hadn’t wanted to land closer – was made in silence but just before they descended down the last slope towards where a high gated wall stood, Lance threw out a hand.

“Hold it,” he frowned, face half-shadowed by his hood so the whites of his eyes popped. ”You can’t go in like that.”

Keith glanced down at his outfit, which had been given both Coran and Lance’s thumbs up of approval earlier. “Like what?”

“That,” Lance gestured at him. “All sneaky like.”

“…we’re bounty hunters,” Keith pointed out. He’d been trying to channel stealth and a quiet grace, realizing far too late he was mimicking the Blades he’d met during his trial.

He wondered if his mom had been a stealth operative.

He wondered if it had gotten her killed.

“Exactly,” Lance said.

Keith did not follow.

“We’re bounty hunters going into a hive of villainy,” Lance’s lips quirked up at the parrot of Coran’s words. “We have to _own_ it, show them that we’re not intimidated or some small fry because otherwise no one is going to give us the time of day – which is what here, evening? It’s so dark out but—”

Keith coughed and Lance cut himself off.

“Anyways, we need to be confident, that’s the key to everything. Fake it till you make it, you know?”

Keith repeated the phrase over in his head, noted the way Lance’s smile had grown a tad tighter.

He frowned. How much of Lance’s personality was this “fake it till you make it” idea? He couldn’t get a handle on the sharpshooter. He’d written him off as a joke and braggart, added in hopeless romantic and flirt, then had to note some level of skill in piloting and then a deeper appreciation for his shooting skills, exasperated again by Lance’s hands-on and loud approach to almost everything and the way he always seemed to be trying to pick a fight and /or compete with Keith, surprised by his quieter moments of homesickness and further still by his ability to read a situation and be serious when it warranted alongside his clear compassion and care for every alien they came across and that desire to always see the good in others no matter who they were.

Lance made no sense to him. What part of him was real and what part of it was fake? Keith didn’t like fake people, didn’t like their lies or their false facades because those people were the ones that hurt him the most, had made him into a label, had taught him to not trust and made sure no one would ever do the same back.

Where did Lance fall? Keith didn’t think Lance was a bully, not really even if he did pick fights with Keith (or used to, when was the last time he’d honestly done that?), and he thought his care for others was genuine.

What was real? What was fake? Was Lance a friend? Teammate?

“You can still be quiet, that’s probably better honestly,” Lance continued, jolting him again from his observations, “but shoulders back,” Lance clapped a hand to Keith’s back as though to do it for him, “stand up straight and make eye contact. Stare them down and make _them_ feel like the small fry. Even though you’re probably one of the smallest ones here.”

He glared at Lance — why was it always jokes about his height? — as he stepped away from the hand and the other boy chuckled. “That’s perfect. Now let’s go.”

Lance took the lead as they strode towards the gate although he slowed his stride so Keith’s shorter one drew even with him by the time they reached the guards, who were wearing full armored face masks.

“What business have you on Xindew?” asked one, voice gruff behind the metal.

And despite Lance’s order to Keith to stare people down Lance smiled instead, although it was a sharper grin than normal. “Business? None. Pleasure? Now we’re talking.”

“Names?” the guard intoned, still sounding gruff but bored now.

Keith stiffened.

They hadn’t discussed names at all. What were they going by? Lying was _not_ his strong suit and naming things especially not. They were going to get caught right here as amateurs and—

“Lonce,” Lance replied easily, “ace shooter,” he rested a gloved hand atop the large blaster adhered along his thigh and Keith resisted the urge to roll his eyes at how Lance’s name was just Allura’s stronger pronunciation of it, “and Mullet, swordsman.”

Keith barely resisted starting.

He had not just done that.

His glare turned to Lance but the taller boy paid him no mind even if Keith swore his lips turned up further with amusement.

“Affiliation?”

“Independent,” Lance answered without pause. “I like to call my own shots, you know?” and he _winked,_ tapping his gun again.

To Keith’s immense surprise the second guard let out a snort.

“Don’t drink Marty’s house grog,” was the response, given with a low laugh and an open gate.

They were in.

“Thanks,” Lance chirped and with a more natural grin strode into the hub with Keith silent next to him.

“Mullet?” Keith repeated  as soon as they were out of earshot of the guards. “Lance—”

“Lonce,” Lance corrected. “Geez, mullet, you’re gonna blow our cover. And besides,” he turned twinkling blue eyes on Keith, “what would you have named yourself?”

Keith remained silent, a telling enough answer.

“Come on,” Lance said, heading for the crowded streets of what looked like restaurant and bar section. “It’s time to go knife hunting.”

At the reminder of the reason for the mission Keith felt his ire draining away and he gave a jerky nod.

They were looking for a Tylina — which from pictures Coran had pulled for them was humanoid in shape and very tall and thin with hardened scales creeping up from a flat nose and into a sort of spike all down their backs that ended in a long tail of the same texture — that was black in color with white eyes and a penchant for gold jewelry.

Keith realized that even with such distinct physical features it was going to be hard going. There were so many aliens here of all different species and backgrounds. Some, Keith could hazard, were bounty hunters or mercenaries based on their clothing and armor and many of those seemed to be in various groups based on insignias and Keith could feel their stares following them and he did his best to ignore them while projecting aloofness.

They belonged here. Lance’s words of “fake it till you make it,” rang in his head and Keith kept his scowl firmly in place whenever his eyes would lock on another set as he looked for the Tylina.

Others were dressed in more opulent wear and likely the crime bosses and heads of the organizations. Crime paid and it paid well if the amount of jewels and gold that dripped from them was to be believed, along with clear bodyguards accompanying them.

Their target was likely one of these aliens, higher up in the organization to be considered an “associate,” and Keith wished they had more information but the group was newer than ten thousand years old in the castle’s databases and all Pidge had been able to find was that it was a criminal organization with heavy ties to the black market.

Useless.

Then there were those that looked to be the more typical run-of-the-mill thieves and underbelly of this world; lurking in the alleyways and sneering and no doubt the underlings of some of the larger names.

The final group was what Keith would classify as almost normal considering the town and those were the shopkeepers and their staffs. There was a harder edge to them than most he’d encountered but they were who Lance was focusing his attentions on under the guise of looking for supplies and a knife (and not Keith’s but if they happened to stumble across it then he would not look a gift horse in the mouth) as well as inquiring as to food and lodging and getting a feel for the area.

Keith had no plans to stay in this town for any longer than necessary but he didn’t protest as Lance seemed to know what he was doing. Classic quest video game, Lance had told him as they stepped out of what was a very clearly illegally obtained goods pawn shop, and Keith hadn’t had an answer to that.

“Don’t tell me you’ve never played the classics,” Lance told him, leading Keith nimbly through the crowd, which was starting to fill more and more with the rich and those out for a night of debauchery and fun and their conversation a stark contrast to it all. “Phantasm Kill Bot is timeless, man.”

“I’ve never played any,” Keith said with a shrug.

He crashed into Lance’s back at the sudden stop, getting a facefull of rifle for it.

“What the fuck?” he growled, rubbing at his nose as Lance gaped at him.

“You’ve never played a video game?”

“No?” Keith frowned.

Lance looked like someone had just kicked a puppy.

“How? How is that even possible? Did you live under a rock or something growing up?”

Keith was glad his hood was hiding his face as he couldn’t quite keep his face impassive.

Not a rock, no.

But sometimes close enough.

“Whatever,” Lance flapped a hand. “I’ll just have to show you the ropes and then school you later.”

Keith blinked. Lance was…

Offering to let him play his and Pidge’s coveted gaming system? To spend time with him outside of training and Voltron duties?

That same warm feeling that Allura’s words had brought in flared against the cold memory that Lance’s earlier words had conjured and this time Keith didn’t try to squash it, even if he did fight off the smile trying to make its way onto his face.

Lance still saw it.

He also saw the way Keith had stiffened ever so about the  living under a rock comment and Lance was realizing he really knew almost nothing about Keith. Not about his family, where he lived (because that shack in the desert couldn’t really be his house… could it?), how he knew Shiro from before Voltron… he didn’t even know why Keith got kicked out of the Garrison other than a “discipline issue” which could mean literally anything and considering Keith had been the most talented pilot (maybe even better) since Shiro… well, it had to have been bad and yet expulsion was the worst (apparent) sentence.

“Come on,” Lance clapped a hand on the smaller shoulder although Keith didn’t so much as stumble. “We’ve been at this for a while and it’s chow time. And,” he grinned, “I hear Marty’s has some grog we _have_ to try.”

And besides… a bar was an excellent place to eavesdrop.

This mission was just getting started.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lance is quite the charmer, isn't he? ♥ So smooth. I wonder what sort of adventures Lonce and Mullet are about to get up to. I mean, there hasn't been any real violence and the fic is halfway over. I better fix that...
> 
> I've been noticing a pretty steady decline in readership (especially via commentatorship :( ) since this story started. If you are still here and enjoying the fic please do take a moment to leave a comment with what you liked about it. Kudos are nice but they don’t tell an author anything (as do comments that only say “kudos” and the like >>) about what they have published for your reading pleasure.
> 
> What takes you **minutes** to read can take an author **hours** , if not **days, weeks** or even **months** to create. Please show your authors appreciation for all their hard work, free of any cost to you. It only takes a minute; share a favorite scene, a line of dialogue, a reaction, a prediction… the possibilities on things to comment on are endless. Thank you to those who do so, it means so much ♥


	6. Six

Lance had not been joking about going to Marty’s, a bar that seemed to service mostly the mercenary and thief groups, but had been about the grog. If any alien went out of their way to warn them _not_ to drink it Lance normally would be up for the dare but in this case it was dangerous to let their guard down.

Plus he was technically underage and Mamá would be incredibly disappointed in him. It was one thing to sip on a wine equivalent or toast at a celebration to honor their hosts, it would be another to actually drink at a bar like this (and who knew how it affected humans too).

Lance still set up at the bar as he knew from video games and television that that was the spot to be to chat with the ever-knowing barkeep. Unfortunately their bartender didn’t seem all that interested in talking with them, giving them mugs of water and something that vaguely resembled French fries but tasted like hamburger and otherwise dealing with the rowdier, more violent looking patrons and ignoring them.

Lance took the downtime to quietly relay his findings to Keith over the meal; any mention of the Merklan Group had drawn even here wary looks and tight lips although Lance had seen flashes of respect too with the fear. The group that had bought Keith’s knife was apparently one of the big bads and Lance faintly wondered what they’d gotten themselves into.

He’d not yet been able to confirm the sighting of a Tylina, but Lance wasn’t ready to throw in the towel just yet; another day he told Keith. Xindew was their best bet as the two other habitable planets in the system served primarily as home bases for the various organizations and he’d had no luck as to determining which group was where just yet.

They’d spend the night on Xindew, make some more inquiries the next day and then hopefully have a heading of some sort and have about two and a half days left before they were to be in the coordinates for Allura’s wormhole.

It sounded simple enough in theory but it all hinged on either finding someone willing to actually talk about the Merklan Group and/or a sighting of the associate and Lance could see Keith’s frustration growing at the lack of progress.

Patience was definitely not one of Keith’s strong suits.

“It’s just like Blia,” Lance said, twirling one of the French fries in the sauce they’d come with. “Things’ll—”

He cut off as a hand, _claws,_ clamped down on his shoulder from behind and Lance found himself being yanked sideways on the chair with such force his hood fell back.

A second later he was looking up at a large blue-skinned alien, teeth pulled back in a dark smile and several more just like him and wearing the same insignia of a trio of blue x’s behind him.

Lance had a split second to decide his approach — Angry tough guy? Indifferent? Laugh it off? Charm? — and ultimately decided on a mixture of fierce and casual; he didn’t want to cause a fight but he was not going to be pushed around.

“Hey!” he rolled his shoulder back while leveling a glare at the alien who did not release his grip, aware of Keith turning in his peripheral. “What gives, man?”

“Just saying hello to the fresh meat,” came the sharp grin displaying _rows_ of fangs.

“Oh, why hello then,” Lance cocked his head with a disarming smile. “Pleasure to meet you.”

The alien looked confused and one his buddies let out a muffled laugh behind him. Keith tensed on the barstool, hand resting on the hilt of his knife and prepared to move the second Lance’s attempt (and _how_ was he like that? How? Did he not know _anything_ about self-preservation?) went south.

“Look, I’m not sure if you’re aware of it, but you have some _really_ sharp claws there,” Lance lifted his opposite hand and wrapped it around the alien’s wrist. “So how about you let go, huh?”

The glint in Lance’s eyes, steely despite the smile still on his face, made it clear it wasn’t a suggestion.

In answer the alien’s grip tightened. “Think you’re cute, don’t you?”

“I’ve been told so, yes.”

Lance couldn’t quite hide the wince as the claws pierced through the armor (not half as good as his Altean suit) and he could feel the sting of blood.

“This is our turf, pretty boy,” the alien growled. “And I don’t like your cheek.”

“Well, you’re holding onto my shoulder, so—”

Lance let out a short gasp as the claws dug deeper and he was pushed against the bar, sniper rifle digging into his back.

Keith had had enough.

He was off his own stool in a blink with his knife pressed against the extended wrist just below Lance’s grip, drawing a trickle of orange ichor.

“And I don’t like your hand,” Keith warned. “Remove it now or lose it.”

Keith sensed one of the other members of the apparent gang move and without breaking form he drew his sword and pointed it out, tip landing against the alien’s neck. “Don’t move.”

“Tch,” came the response and the apparent leader shifted backwards, claws retracting. “Not worth my time.”

“The same to you,” Lance said, sliding from the stool to stand at his full height, putting him near level with the alien and resisting the urge to shake out his shoulder that was still pricking uncomfortably.

“Lance,” Keith hissed as the assembled aliens let out low growls. What was he doing now? They were severely outnumbered and while Keith had no doubt the two of them would still win he thought the whole point of dressing as they had had _not_ been to draw extra attention to themselves and a bar fight certainly would.

“You’re members of the Blue Blood Alliance,” Lance said and how he knew that Keith had no idea but Lance was still going, “which, correct me if I’m wrong, means _you_ are the small fry around here.”

“Why you—”

“Your boss just got his ass,” Lance’s hand twitched ever so at the word and if Keith hadn’t been so tense as to what the fuck Lance was doing he’d have snorted at what Lance considered vulgar in his regular vocabulary of swears, “handed to him by a Nebula Star. Pretty sad, guys. I mean,” Lance shot a far too easy looking grin at the murderous stares narrowed on him, “a Nebula Star? Maybe if it had been someone else, say someone from the Merklan Group, it wouldn’t be such an embarrassment.”

Keith barely resisted sucking in a harsh breath of surprise.

Lance was fishing for information on the Merklan Group.

By antagonizing a violent, angry mercenary faction.

Oh God.

His own hand tightened on his knife and sword.

“You will regret opening your mouth,” snarled the leader, a knife flicking into his hand.

Lance didn’t so much as flinch. “Much less then you must regret joining the Blue Bloods. What, the Merklan Group not want you? I can’t say I’m surprised, they only accept the best after all.”

Lance’s grin sharpened as yellow eyes widened ever so at the insinuation.

“You? You’re Merklan Group?” The alien shook his head. “No. Absolutely not. You are not wearing their symbol.”

He still seemed uncertain and the aliens behind him were shifting uneasily.

“Tell me,” Lance leaned forward. “What do you even know of the Merklan Group?”

Keith held his breath.

“You think you’re so high and mighty,” snarled the alien. “Looking down at all of us from your tower base just because your precious lady drips in gold and blood. Well guess what? You’re _nothing._ And you’re gonna be the one dripping in blood.”

That was all the warning they had.

Keith lunged forward to intercept the knife angling for Lance’s chest, his own knife hitting it with a sharp _clang_ and Keith nearly lost his grip at how _strong_ the strike was. Lance let out a small inhale, barely audible, but it sounded like a gunshot to Keith’s ears.

There was a moment of pause as the knives reverberated against one another.

And then with yells the rest of Blue Blood Alliance engaged.

Keith ducked and wove, blocking another knife with his sword and falling into a familiar dance of metal on metal, the glint of steel in the corner of his eye and the pivots around broader, slower bodies. He could see flashes of blue light and a _bang bang bang_ was sounding above the yelling as Lance took shots with his blaster.

But this was a close range battle and you didn’t bring a gun to a knife fight.

Keith felt more than saw some of the mercenaries go to rush Lance, identifying him as the weaker target of the two.

He spun, driving the hilt of the sword into an alien’s stomach and pushing her back, to see Lance whipping his blaster like a small battering ram to deflect the knife and dagger coming for him.

The dagger sliced his blaster in two.

The knife cut across Lance’s side in the opening.

Crimson splattered the air.

To Keith’s surprise (and yet not, not any more) Lance pulled his pistol from his holster in the same movement and before the blood had even fallen he’d fired off two shots.

The aliens went down with headshots, faces frozen with shock.

Stunner, Keith noted.

That didn’t surprise him at all. He wasn’t actually sure Lance had killed anyone in personal combat.

But…

That mercy, that refusal to cross over the line, could very well get them killed.

They needed to get out of there before anyone else realized what Lance hadn’t done.

And they needed to go _now_ as Lance stumbled sideways.

Right into the path of the leader.

Keith saw it as though in slow motion, the alien’s eyes lighting up with dark joy as his knife swept through the air towards Lance and Lance’s own eyes widening with realization as the blade angled for his head with no time to fire the gun or try to block with it for all the good that would likely do.

Keith moved.

His sword crashed down, _through,_ the alien’s extended arm and with a spray of orange blood the hand holding the knife went flying to the side.

The alien _screamed_ and staggered backwards, remaining hand going to the stump of his wrist as though to hold the blood in.

Keith had warned him he’d remove it.

Keith reached out, grabbed Lance by his upper arm and pulled him past the leader and one remaining upright mercenary and into the gathering crowd who had come to watch the fight. They parted easily as Keith brandished the bloodied sword and he towed Lance out of the bar and into the crowded evening street although no one seemed to be giving them a second glance.

Given the response at the bar Keith would bet clashes between rival groups were all too common and injured people moreso.

It was still unsettling the way gazes moved right past them, crimson dripping down Lance’s side now and orange ichor splattered across the lower half of Lance’s face and chest and Keith had no inclination to point it out right now.

“Th-that way,” Lance pointed a blood-stained trembling gloved finger to the right and Keith yanked him down it.

Lance gave two more directions until they were in front of what looked like a very seedy inn but Lance nodded at it and Keith knew they didn’t have time to be picky. He practically dragged Lance into it, realizing only then his hand was still tight on Lance’s upper arm and he let go as Lance seemed to be steady enough on his feet and there was no hurry or threat for the moment.

The clerk behind the counter said nothing to their appearance although her bright purple lips pursed. “Six hundred GAC,” was all she said and Keith tried not to blanch at the amount for a room at this run-down place.

But beggars could not be choosers and Lance was already nodding and sliding GAC across the counter from the money bag he’d secured in a second holster. A room key was exchanged with a warning of “no trouble,” and Lance had turned for the hallway leading to rooms and Keith followed.

The fact Lance hadn’t even so much tried to haggle or flirt to a better price spoke as much to the situation as the blood showing on his side, that Lance had pressed his free hand to as though to stem it.

They made the short walk silently to the room and Lance opened the door, a heavy looking wooden one, in the same manner. The room inside was honestly cleaner and nicer than Keith had been imagining given the state of the inn;  a single bed taking up most of it with a chair at a table and a door that led to likely the bathroom on the far wall next to a small chest of drawers.

“Sit,” Keith ordered and Lance sank down onto the lone chair with a ragged breath. He paled under his tan as he lifted his hand and scarlet coated his glove.

Keith was already walking into the bathroom and wetting one of the hand towels — not the nicest but they were clean and that was all that mattered — and grabbing the second one and leaving it dry.

He hoped it wasn’t too deep; the few medical supplies they’d brought they’d left on the ship and even then it was mostly basic bandages and some painkillers.

Lance had managed to pull off his chestplate and arm guards and cape (and gloves too, bloodied items on the floor) by the time Keith returned and was halfway through trying to pull the skin tight shirt now slick with blood off, low groan locked in his throat.

It _hurt._ He could tell it was more superficial than deep but the blade had gone long, from the bottom of his rib cage and cut diagonal across his stomach just above his waistband.

Stupid.

He’d really messed that up. He should have known from the claws piercing the armor that their supplies were of a much lesser quality than the Paladin gear but he hadn’t realized how much until his gun was in two pieces.

“You’re making it worse,” Keith said bluntly.

Lance knew that.

He still struggled to pull the shirt free on his own.

He could manage at least that.

A few painful ticks later where he felt the wound _gush_ Lance got it over his face and made quick work of yanking the sleeves off and dropping it to the ground. Before he could even blink Keith was at his side and pressing a towel against the wound and Lance managed to only hiss at the sudden pressure and pain.

“Hold still.”

Lance did so as Keith’s voice was an odd mixture of anger and concern and something else he couldn’t place. A damp cloth was shoved in front of his face and Lance gingerly took it with his right arm, opposite the worst of the wound, with a raised eyebrow.

“For your face.”

Lance realized within the moment what Keith meant as he pulled it away with bright orange embedded in the white fibers.

He resisted the urge to gag and instead brought it back up more urgently to scrub it all away.

It almost made him forget about the wound on his side but he was forcibly reminded when Keith pulled away the towel, folded it, and pressed it back down again.

Hard.

Other than a sucked in breath he said nothing.

He’d just witnessed Keith _cut someone’s hand off,_ this was nothing.

Just his own fault.

“What was that?” Keith tried to keep the worst of the anger out of his voice although he was grateful that it covered up how _scared_ he was. Lance had just almost fucking died. A tick later and the alien’s blade would have been through his head and he’d be _dead._

Based on Lance’s slight flinch it had still come out harsher than intended.

But good.

Lance had been _reckless._ That was _his_ thing, not Lance’s.

“We needed the information,” Lance said, shifting uncomfortably on the chair as Keith readjusted the towel to check it, relieved when it came up with less blood than before.

Information about Keith’s knife.

Lance had almost gotten killed over _his_ knife.

“Was it worth it?” Keith asked.

He wasn’t sure if the question was directed at himself or Lance.

Was losing a teammate — a friend? — worth his selfish quest?

“Am I dying?” Lance asked, voice tighter with pain but there was a hint of a smile.

“No.”

“Then yes.”

Keith wasn’t quite sure what to say to that.

Lance saved him from having to fill in the silence, already talking again. “He said tower, right? Height? He has to be referring to Xintet; it’s mountainous where as Xinlo is flat and pretty swampy. And a tower implies some type of castle or at least a fortress so we’re going to be looking for something in those parameters and we can do a fly by and check it out.”

Keith was reluctantly impressed.

“Plus, since we know it’s a black market group they’ll need something somewhat accessible for trading and—” Lance cut off with a hiss as Keith, having pulled the towel away while Lance was talking and prodded the cut. “ _Dios mío,_ mullet, careful.”

“It needs stitches,” Keith observed. The wound wasn’t as bad as it could have been; the knife sharp and clean, but the skin was still torn and needed closed to prevent infection or it worsening.

“What? No it doesn’t.” Lance attempted to stand then but the action of leaning forward had him groaning and sinking back on the chair. “I can wait for a pod,” Lance protested weakly. “Besides, we don’t have supplies and it’s not like you know how to sew and—”

“I can sew.”

Lance’s eyes widened ever so.

What?

That was not a hobby he’d have picked for Keith.

But… Keith’s eyes were cut to the side and Lance didn’t think it was of embarrassment.

Something churned unpleasantly in Lance’s stomach that he couldn’t credit to the wound or the alien French fries.

“I’ll check with the front desk,” Keith rose from his crouch. “See what they have. Don’t move.”

He was gone before Lance could even figure out a response.

He tipped his head back on the chair and let out a heavy sigh, regretting it immediately as his side twinged.

That wasn’t what really hurt though.

His hands gripped the arms of the chair, white-knuckled, and he let out a shaky exhale, closing his eyes.

He could still see the blade.

He’d come pretty close to death numerous times, it was sort of in the Paladin job description. But to have it happen there, at a seedy bar, just like that...

_Dios._

He could have just died.

Lance felt his heart begin to pick up tempo and he sucked in another breath and held it.

He needed to calm down.

He couldn’t let Keith see him like this. He was the Red Paladin, the right hand of Voltron now, and he _had to keep it together._ He was fine. It was fine.

He saw the alien’s severed hand flying past, the glint of the knife, could taste now the metallic blood as it splattered his face.

He felt the whoosh of air as _death_ aimed for his head and a blink later it could very well have been.

It was not fine.

Lance barely made it to the bathroom before he was upending the contents of his stomach, his own crying out with every heave and he could feel blood trickling again.

That was how Keith found him, clutching the toilet and trembling.

Keith’s heart leapt into his throat.

Had the blade been poisoned?

Lance retched again in front of him, shoulders shaking.

His feet felt frozen.

Was Lance dying?

What…

What had he done?

Lance turned his head in profile to the toilet, rubbing the back of a hand across his mouth, and his eyes caught Keith’s.

Red immediately stained his cheeks and a choked sounding gasp echoed in the small bathroom. “Ke-Keith,” Lance stuttered.

“What happened?”

It was easier to ask than “are you dying (because of me)?”

“‘m fine,” Lance mumbled, turning his face back to the toilet. The blush was still visible on his skin.

Keith relaxed ever so as if Lance was embarrassed then he likely wasn’t in danger. Although _why_ he would be feeling embarrassed Keith wasn’t quite sure.

“I have supplies,” he offered into the thick silence, “a painkiller too.”

Lance gave a soft hum of confirmation.

Keith watched — and he did not hover, he absolutely did not — as Lance got long legs beneath him and rose up. Drops of blood were sprinkled on the tile.

Lance paused at the sink, running the tap and cupping a handful of water to his face and spitting it back out, before he lumbered past Keith without meeting his gaze.

“The bed would be better,” Keith said as Lance went for the chair.

Ocean eyes flicked up, something unreadable in them, before Lance carefully sat on the bed and then eased himself down.

Keith dragged the chair over and took a hard sit, putting his (incredibly expensive, God this inn was ridiculous) supplies on the comforter next to Lance and bundling together the ice he’d gathered and placing it alongside the wound. Lance startled a bit at the sudden cold but let out a soft, relieved sound.

“It’s still going to hurt,” Keith told him as uncapped the pain reliever bottle and offered one of the apparently chewable pills to Lance.

“That,” Lance winced as he shifted to take it, “I do not doubt.”

“Still worth it?” Keith asked, threading the needle now, guilt burning hot in him. Lance had gotten hurt because of him, because of his knife.

He’d blame him too.

Lance let out a shuddering breath but his gaze was steady as he met Keith’s eyes.

“Yes.”

“Why?” Keith found himself asking the question.

“Because that knife is really important to you,” Lance said softly. “And… and that’s enough of a reason.”

Keith felt something dislodge in his chest at Lance’s words.

He…

He really meant that. He didn’t even know, not really, and still he…

Distraction. He needed a distraction before he started thinking too deep into it.

Keith stabbed Lance with the needle.

“Holy crow!” Lance yelped, jerking on the bed but fisting his hands in the blanket and clearly trying to remain still.

He’d like even stitches, thank you very much. Even though he had hopes to hop into a pod as soon as this was over and let the Altean magic do its job.

He winced as Keith made a second pass with the needle.

Only what, fifty more to go?

_Dios._

“It was my mom’s knife,” Keith spoke quietly and Lance was both grateful for the distraction and the realization that Keith was _talking to him_ again. Maybe Allura had been on to something after all.  “My pop gave it to me. It’s… it’s all I have left. Of either of them.”

Lance stilled even as he felt another sharp prick in his side.

Either of them?

“My pop died,” Keith clarified.

“I’m so sorry, Keith,” Lance said quietly after a pause.

He hadn’t had any idea.

What _did_ he actually know about Keith?

Keith rolled his shoulders. “It was a long time ago.”

That made Lance frown around his next wince.

A long time ago?

How… how long had Keith been without his parents?

“I was seven,” Keith said, as though hearing the question. He hunched his shoulders in at the admission. Just like in the ship he hadn’t meant to say that.

He could feel Lance’s too sharp gaze on him then and he slid the needle back into the mocha flesh to disrupt it.

“You… you lived with your grandparents then?” Lance hedged.

Keith gave a minute shake of his head. “Didn’t have any. Pop’s died long before and, well... never knew my mom’s, obviously.”

He didn’t say anything else but it didn’t take a genius to figure out what the other option would have been then. Lance didn’t press though and Keith bit his tongue to keep any more traitorous words locked in.

“We’ll get it back,” Lance said after a few more stitches, voice breathless but strong with the promise all the same. “We will, Keith. No… no matter what.”

Keith was afraid of what that could mean now.

Lance had almost  _died._

The silence stretched and Keith didn’t know how to break it.

“You’re… you’re pretty good at that,” Lance said, inclining his head towards the stitches.

He said nothing else but Keith could hear the question, the _why_ attached as well as the knowledge that he did not have to answer.

“Had to be,” Keith said after a pause.

He couldn’t count the number of times he’d had to take care of himself. Only twice though had he put stitches in himself though and he shoved the memory away before it could take form.

“Lived by myself in the desert,” he said, but the follow up was too little, too late, and he could almost hear Lance thinking, observing, trying to draw lines between the information Keith had dropped. “And…” he needed to say something else, anything else, because that was still too raw, too personal and he couldn’t talk about it with Lance, “and, and my pop was a firefighter.”

He hadn’t been the paramedic in his unit but they all had medical training and Keith had learned (too much, his pop had winced when he found Keith at six years old reading instructionals on how to perform an emergency birth that had been left lying about the common room lounge) enough.

It had saved him more than once between the group home and the more violent foster families.

He didn’t like to imagine what Pop must be thinking to know his son had had to use that knowledge on himself.

But the tidbit had steered Lance in a different direction it seemed as Lance’s face had softened even as sweat dotted his brow. “He was a hero, huh?”

“Yeah.”

Keith finished in silence, pressing a compress to the now inflamed flesh of neat rows of stitches and then gesturing for Lance to sit so he could wrap a swathe of bandages about it.

“Will I live, doc?” Lance teased, hunching forward and arms shaking ever so from where he held them out.

“It seems so,” Keith kept his voice flat but he could feel his lip twitching and Lance outright laughed. He sobered though as Lance’s laugh went to a breathy gasp. “You need to take it easy though. No sudden movements or you could pull them.”

“I’ll do my best.”

And really, that was all he could offer given the circumstances. Keith seemed to realize it too by the short jerking nod.

“Get some rest,” Keith stood up, the chair screeching on the floor.

“Um, what about you?” Lance asked. There was only one bed and he thought they both might fit if they squeezed on but Keith didn’t seem the type to willingly engage in that much physical contact and based on the stiffening of his shoulders Lance had his answer there. It made him sad; he was so used to be cuddling with Hunk, his siblings, and showing care through physical affection. Keith though stiffened or hung back unless Shiro had pulled him into group hugs and it was only with Shiro that he’d ever seen Keith really relax.

How _had_ Shiro and Keith met? What was Shiro to Keith?

“I’m keeping watch,” Keith was already dragging the chair towards the door, setting up. “I don’t trust this town.”

“Keith, man,” Lance shifted to prop himself somewhat up on his elbows and ignored the pull on his stomach. “You need to sleep too. We… we can trade? Rotate shifts?”

“You’re hurt.”

“Exactly. Which is why _you_ need to be at your best.”

Because even at his best Lance hadn’t been good enough.

He tried not to let the bitter sting sink in.

“Fine,” Keith huffed. “Four varga. I’ll wake you then.”

“And you’ll take the bed.”

“ _Fine.”_

Lance allowed himself a small smile as he sank back down.

He was asleep within the minute.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And since this fic doesn't seem to be doing it for my few Keith fans, here, take some Lance whump ♥ With still plenty of Keith angst for those of you who are enjoying it (*raises hand*).
> 
> Last little promotion of this as preorders close in two weeks. “A Collection of Langst,” is a zine of my fanficton and sales will be benefiting the amazing charity Warrior Canine Connection. Preorders are open through May 30 so if you’d like to order a copy of my works and help me help U.S. Veterans **[you can find information and order links here.](https://icymakesazine.tumblr.com/post/184200328869/zine-preorders-are-open)**
> 
> If you are still here and enjoying the fic please do take a moment to leave a comment with what you liked about it. Kudos are nice but they don’t tell an author anything (as do comments that only say “kudos” and the like >>) about what they have published for your reading pleasure.
> 
> What takes you **minutes** to read can take an author **hours** , if not **days, weeks** or even **months** to create. Please show your authors appreciation for all their hard work, free of any cost to you. It only takes a minute; share a favorite scene, a line of dialogue, a reaction, a prediction… the possibilities on things to comment on are endless. Thank you to those who do so, it means so much ♥


	7. Seven

 

Lance insisted they spend the morning still on Xindew looking for the Tylina.

They had a good idea of at least what to look for in regards to a base. But…

But Lance had quietly said he didn’t like their chances of getting it back from the Merklan Group if they went there.

Not from a lady that dripped with blood and gold.

Even that description, snarled out in hate, still had his blood chilled the next day.

Their best bet was still to see if they could find the Tylina, offer up some gold and perhaps they’d be kind-hearted enough to part with it (Lance doubted it but hope was nice). And if that failed it was two on one (even though Lance was disadvantaged now as his blaster was gone and his movements were slower from the wound that didn’t hurt-hurt but did twinge if he turned too quickly or raised his arms up) and Keith had said he was not above taking it back by force.

Caution, Lance had pressed, as they took back to the streets, quieter now from the night crowd but still busy enough with the restaurants and supply shops and pawnbrokers. They didn’t want to draw any further attention (and Keith, to Lance’s surprise and delight, had sewed his underarmour shirt _and_ washed the blood off his chestplate and gloves so that wouldn’t stick out and when Lance had tried to thank him Keith had brushed it off although Lance hadn’t missed the small, pleased smile he’d tried to hide).

He completely deserved Keith’s raised eyebrow at that as yes, his actions last night had been far far from that but he’d needed to do _something_ as _no one_ would so much as talk about the Merklan Group and they didn’t have time to waste. Every minute they were away was a minute that Lotor could be attacking, that the others could be in trouble and they would have no idea.

It made Lance feel sick with worry.

He wondered if that was how Keith felt on a regular basis thinking about Shiro.

It just made his stomach twist more.

They were sitting now (well, leaning, really) against a low wall that ran the length of one of the aisles and eating some bagel looking item that had a sort of peanut-y flavor while watching the crowds go by.

Pidge probably would have liked it, Lance thought.

“Enough,” Keith pushed off the wall a few moments later, scowl firmly in place. “This is a waste of time, La—”

“Lonce.”

“ _Lonce,”_ Keith gritted out. “He didn’t stop here, probably went straight to the base. Which is where _we_ should be.”

Lance didn’t really relish the idea of trying to sneak into a giant base of what sounded like one cutthroat alien, but he also wasn’t liking the looks he could see being given to them by some of the passerby, all of whom were wearing insignias. He’d picked those up pretty quick, one of the few things a shopkeeper had been willing to share as he made the embroidered patches.

He hadn’t had the Merklan Group on display and given the Blue Blood alien’s reaction last night Lance wondered if their operatives might actually operate under the radar completely.

It was slightly terrifying.

Moreso though was the idea that their escapade at the bar had drawn attention, which given the fact Keith had cut off one guy’s hand and they’d left everyone alive might have been a bit much to hope for.

“Okay,” Lance agreed. “Let’s head back to the—”

He broke off as a flash of gold against black caught his eye.

No way.

He straightened to his full height for a better look.

Yup.

That right there was a dragon-looking alien with black scales, white eyes and wearing a crazy amount of gold jewelry.

The Tylina.

“What?” Keith asked, hand lighting atop the sword hilt at Lance’s pause, his eyes focused on something outside of Keith’s sightline.

“The Tylina is here,” Lance said quietly.

And if the Tylina was here…

So was his knife.

He could end this right now.

“Where?” Keith demanded.

“Heading for three o’clock, looks like some sort of alley—”

He cut himself short that time as Keith shouldered past him.

“Mullet, wait!”

Keith did not wait.

His knife was _right there_ and he was not going to lose sight of it.

Lance let out his version of a swear under his breath as he hurried to catch up. They hadn’t even discussed an approach for the easy seven-foot alien whose scales were no doubt not just for show and belonged to a group that people were terrified to even talk about.

Lance also had a niggling feeling in the back of his mind that something was _wrong_ with this setup. No matter if people knew that alien was from the Merklan Group, one should not walk around wearing that much gold in a place full of thieves like this, shouldn’t go down an _alley_ by themselves.

Alleys were never used for good things.

That, and Lance could feel gazes on him still, fleeting things, but it was enough to make the back of his neck prickle.

“ _Dios,”_ he whispered under his breath, veering to the right and not following Keith into what very well might be a trap.

He’d go up, get on top the roof overlooking the alley. His sniper rifle was still intact and while not quite as sleek as his bayard it would be enough to provide cover and hopefully get them both out of this.

Decision made Lance made to blend into the crowd before he made his move, to lose the unseeing eyes first.

His skin prickled all the while.

Keith meanwhile had eyes only for the Tylina, closing the gap between them with measured steps.

It was wrong to attack an unaware opponent, he knew that. The Tylina also had done nothing wrong although Keith knew if he didn’t hand over the blade peacefully then he _would_ fight him for it. It was his knife and that was that.

The larger alien entered the offshoot Lance had mentioned and Keith followed without pause, one hand wrapped about the hilt of his sword and the other lighting on the dagger under his cloak.

He could do this.

He could get the knife back here, now, get back to looking for Shiro, make sure Lance wasn’t hurt ag—

He paused.

There were no footsteps behind him, no sense of Lance at his back.

Fuck.

But…

But this was for the better. This was his mission, his knife. Lance had already been hurt because of it, had _nearly died,_ and this way at least he was safe.

Keith could do this himself.

As he stepped further down the alley though he felt something churning in his gut, a sensation of _wrong,_ as it led to a dead-end.

And the Tylina was waiting for him.

Trap.

Keith pushed down the sickening feeling.

He was so close.

He would not back down now.

“Ah,” the Tylina smiled, an unkind thing of sharp teeth in his scaled maw. “Someone was looking for me.”

“You have something of mine,” Keith kept his voice even despite the shudder that went through him at the Tylina’s words.

He’d known.

How?

“You are mistaken.”

“No,” Keith took a step forward. “I’m not.”

“You are young,” the alien observed, head cocked with almost interest to the side. “And foolish,” the smile sharpened. “I take pity on you. Go, leave now, and live to be foolish for one more day.”

He was being mocked.

Keith growled low in his throat.

“I’m not leaving,” Keith drew his sword with a barely audible hiss. “Not without my knife.”

He could do this.

He could feel the familiar thrum of adrenaline bolstering him, sizing up his opponent who still had yet to draw a weapon of his own. Maybe his size and strength were his weapons? That tail too, long and spiked, was definitely something to watch out for.

“They you are more a fool than I anticipated.”

Keith charged.

The Tylina still didn’t move.

Keith did not allow his step to falter.

He’d made his challenge clear, if the Tylina chose not to fight then that was on him.

Even though…

Even though Keith was attacking him over a knife the alien had by all technical means obtained legally.

But it was _his_ knife.

And the Tylina knew it, Keith could see it in his smirk.

And Keith would take it back.

Keith’s sword swung in an arc…

And crashed into a studded tail, spikes and gold plating, with a resounding _clang_.

As he thought.

And he was prepared.

Keith was already turning, knife clutched in his other hand and swiping downwards, point _screeching_ against the metal on the back of the armor.

It didn’t pierce.

Keith didn’t let it get to him, ducking and throwing his weight to the side to disengage from the tail, dodging the clawed hand thrust for his head and feeling it whisper through his hair, and pivoting around the side.

He jumped the spiked tail, engaged it once more with his blade, blocked the claws gunning for his head again with the knife.

The Tylina was strong and fast, faster than Keith anticipated.

But he had a distinct weakness.

His tail was his primary offense, his arms shorter than the length of his trunk would suggest, and his reach such a handicap to Keith’s longer sword. And by lashing out with his tail he left a gap, a split-second, if Keith could get inside the defense of his armor, of his back undefended.

He was formidable but…

But Keith knew he could best him.

 _This_ was someone of the feared Merklan Group?

Clearly they were more bark than bite.

It made Keith smirk.

This was his battle to win.

xxx

Lance tracked the exchange below him, pulse pounding steadily in his ear as metal clashed against armor.

Keith seemed to have the upper hand, the advantage.

But the Tylina had not lost his smirk.

Something was wrong.

That prickling feeling had not receded entirely even though Lance thought he’d thrown off any followers. He hadn’t been able to make certain though as he had to hurry because Keith was being stupidly reckless and _this had to be a trap._

Lance didn’t doubt his aim, knew he could hit the Tylina without issue from this vantage point even with the foreign gun and the constant movement.

But his hand hovered on the trigger.

It felt wrong.

Everything about this felt wrong.

Lance should take the shot, end this. Keith would be angry with him, he knew, both for taking out his opponent and for doing something so dishonorable (sniping was fine for Galrans and sentry bots but here? Now? Taking someone out who had no idea he was even a target in a fight that Lance still wasn’t sure in itself was right?).

Lance decided he’d deal with that fallout later. Right now the priority was Keith’s safety and Keith wouldn’t be leaving without his knife.

As he went to adjust the scope Lance heard the slightest sound, a scuff, and before he could even turn his head, try to get up from where he was lying flush on the rooftop, something pressed against the back of his head.

A gun.

Oh _Dios._

It had been a trap.

And they’d both walked right into it.

“Drop the rifle,” came the ghost of a whisper, a breath of air across his ear.

Lance tightened his grip on it, the sight of Keith and the Tylina fighting down below blurred through the scope.

The barrel of the gun pressed harder into his head and Lance became aware of more scuffs now, more people.

No escape.

“Last chance, boy.”

Lance heard the gun whine to charge, felt the heat searing against his scalp.

The alien was serious.

They would kill him right here without a second thought.

Lance swallowed thickly…

And dropped the rifle.

xxx

Keith’s smirk was growing as the fight stretched on.

He was winning.

He had yet to actually pierce the armor but he’d left several nice dents and one crack and the Tylina was definitely moving slower than before, a more cautious air to his attacks.

All Keith had to do was keep it up, press his advantage, and _take him out._

And in a blink the smirk was torn away as a gunshot _cracked_ in the air and Keith felt it skim across his right shoulder. Nothing painful, the armor absorbing the worst of it but...

It had come from behind.

Another opponent?

He turned out of his attack, putting space between himself and the Tylina and cast quick eyes in the direction of the shot.

It wasn’t just one opponent.

There were at least ten, all clustered atop the roofs bordering the alley.

And kneeling in front on the very edge of the building…

“Lance,” Keith breathed, heart in his throat.

His arms were bound behind his back, some sort of black cloth crossing the bottom of his face in a gag, and a gun was pressed against his head, the meaning clear. Even from the distance Lance caught his eyes before he cast his gaze down as pink highlighted tanned cheeks.

Shame.

Keith’s stomach clenched.

No.

He was the one who should be ashamed.

What had he done?

“I told you that you were foolish,” the Tylina spoke, sounding smug.

“Let him go,” Keith growled, turning his attention back to the alien and away from Lance’s downcast expression.

“Because he means so much to you?” sneered the alien. “Hardly. You left him behind without hesitation.”

Keith couldn’t quite hide the flinch.

It was true.

God.

What had he done?

“A bit at odds with the events from last night,” the Tylina continued, “but I suppose this,” and a familiar blade flickered into the Tylina’s large hands, “is more important to you.”

Keith’s breath caught.

His knife.

“Ah,” the alien smirked. “I can see where your priorities rest.”

He canted his head towards the roof. “How does that make you feel, boy, to know your comrade cares more for a weapon than you?”

Keith hated that didn’t know what to say to that. It wasn't true, of course that wasn't true...

But at the same time....

He looked back towards Lance. He couldn’t make out the other boy’s features, his head tilted down.

“Lance,” he whispered his name.

His chest felt tight.

“I, however, care more about the weapon’s owner than the weapon,” and the Tylina’s words brought Keith’s gaze back around. “After all, a luxite blade means you are one of the elusive Blade of Marmora. I wonder what secrets you have for me, little Blade.” The teeth widened into a dark grin.” You will be far, far more valuable than this trinket.”

Air was suddenly hard to come by.

They thought he was a Blade of Marmora?

They wanted information?

Coran’s earlier warning about if they were to be discovered as Paladins floated through his head with a new sense of dread.

“No,” Keith shook his head. “I’m not a Blade.”

“And yet this,” he held up the knife, “says differently.”

“I’m not—”

“And while you may have abandoned your comrade today, it’s clear he still means _something_ to you. We have eyes everywhere, little Blade. Nothing you say or do here goes without our knowledge.”

Keith felt sick.

They knew.

They knew about everything.

“It is why such a tactic worked on you. You are honorable, foolish Blade. Your comrade is merciful. It is a deadly combination and now you will pay the price. Or rather,” the Tylina chuckled, “he will.”

No.

This couldn’t be happening.

Keith shifted on his feet, sword heavy in his hand.

He had to do something.

Anything.

Lance was…

“Drop your weapons,” the Tylina ordered, “or he will be dead before you can so much as blink. He is collateral, little Blade, but we can do without him as well.”

Keith’s hands tightened for a split second about his sword and knife…

And then the dropped them with a clatter.

His pulse pounded in his ears.

“Hands on your head.”

Keith grit his teeth and did so.

He could feel them trembling.

“Kneel.”

Keith’s knees hit the ground without hesitation.

The Tylina was there then and dragging Keith’s hands behind his back and forcefully securing the cuffs. Keith didn’t struggle at all.

He couldn’t risk Lance’s life.

Even though…

Even though he was the reason it was in danger in the first place.

“Now,” the Tylina whispered, teeth nearly nipping at Keith’s ear as he crouched behind him, “let’s find out what secrets you know.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That's a bad case of mistaken identity right there...
> 
> Just for anyone still considering, my zine, “A Collection of Langst,” that will benefit the amazing charity Warrior Canine Connection, is open for preorders through Monday. If you’d like to order a copy of my works and help me help U.S. Veterans **[you can find information and order links here.](https://icymakesazine.tumblr.com/post/184200328869/zine-preorders-are-open)**
> 
> If you are still here and enjoying the fic please do take a moment to leave a comment with what you **liked about it.** Kudos are nice but they don’t tell an author anything (as do comments that only say “kudos” and the like >>) about what they have published for your reading pleasure.
> 
> What takes you **minutes** to read can take an author **hours** , if not **days, weeks** or even **months** to create. Please show your authors appreciation for all their hard work, free of any cost to you. It only takes a minute; share a favorite scene, a line of dialogue, a reaction, a prediction… the possibilities on things to comment on are endless. Thank you to those who do so, it means so much ♥


	8. Eight

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Warning: graphic-ish violence ahead**

To Keith’s surprise he and Lance were both put into the same cell.

The bigger surprise was the fact they were unbound.

Keith rubbed his aching wrists and rotated his shoulders, stiff after nearly two varga of travel to the Merklan Group’s base.

It was on Xintet, just as Lance had figured, and they had gotten to it, just as Keith had wanted.

But not like this.

Lance still hadn’t said a word to him even though he’d been ungagged once aboard the ship. Keith had been quiet during the ride too, aware of the guns trained actively on them, but now, in the cell, Lance remained silent, sitting in the corner and arms wrapped about his knees that were drawn to his chest and clothed in just his undersuit as their weapons and armor had been confiscated.

Keith was afraid to know what he was thinking.

He needed to apologize.

A lot.

This was his fault. His quest, his knife, his _stupid_ reckless actions that had separated them, had given the Merklan Group the opportunity to trap them both.

He’d been stupid.

And selfish.

And now…

“I’m sorry.”

Lance’s apology echoed in the cell despite the fact it was barely a whisper.

Keith blinked.

What?

 _Lance_ was apologizing?

“I’m sorry,” Lance repeated, still looking at his knees, guilt and shame warring in his chest.

He should have seen the ambush coming.

Some sharp eyes he had.

It was his fault they were captured. If he hadn’t been there, hadn’t been dead weight, Keith wouldn’t have had to surrender.

He’d really messed up.

Keith let out a soft sigh and Lance hunched further over even though it pulled at the wound, and waited for the axe to fall.

“I’m the one who should be apologizing.”

Lance looked up, denial and surprise on his lips, but Keith met his gaze and shook his head.

He let out another sigh and moved to where Lance was sitting, sliding down the wall and mirroring Lance’s pose a couple feet away.

“I messed up, not you,” Keith continued. “This is my fault. I’m… I’m sorry, Lance. I didn’t… I didn’t _think._ I was stupid. And reckless. And…” he hung his head. “And I’m sorry.”

“Aww, isn’t that just the sweetest thing?”

Both dark heads jerked upright in tandem to look across the cell to the barred front wall. Two aliens stood there, complete opposites to one another except for the fact both appeared female and were wearing matching armor and cloaks in black and gold.

One was tall and willowy, skin brown and almost bark-like in texture with large, luminous green eyes. Hair that resembled ferns in green and red trailed down into a thick braid over her shoulder.

The other was shorter but still about Lance’s height, wider and thicker with dark blue skin and short cropped hair in deep purple with two little nub-like horns sticking out of the top.

“But too little too late, little Blade,” spoke the taller alien, the original speaker. “Rocli gave you a chance and you blew it like that,” she snapped her fingers, a dull crackling sound emitting at the action.

“Who are you?” Keith demanded, back on his feet in one smooth movement and he could sense Lance standing as well.

“What awful manners,” she sniffed, blowing a loose leaf-like bang out of her face. “How boorish.”

Lance stepped forward, hands spread and a smile on his face and slight tilt to his head that was completely at odds with their situation.

Keith had seen that look many times before; often aimed at either Allura or Shiro when trying to get out of trouble or more often now when engaging in diplomatic relations.

He was going to try and charm his way out of this.

“He does have awful manners,” Lance said, “and I do apologize for him. My name is Lance,” and there was no way they hadn’t heard Keith using it here and during the whole trap bit, “and this here is Mullet although he likes to go by Keith,” because Lance was under no false ideas that he was likely going to slip up if they… if they tortured him as that was sort of what it sounded like from the exchange on the rooftop and he hadn’t had the courage yet to ask Keith what he thought.

“Lance and Keith, huh?” the alien sounded the names out.

“And what name should I call someone as beautiful as you?” Lance kept up the smile.

“Aww, you are sweet. I like you, Lance.”

“Beautiful and kind, I like you too…”

“Namenta,” she filled in. “The lady’s chief… information gatherer,” her lips quirked up at the title. “And this is Lorin. She doesn’t speak much, but she does enjoy making others talk. Or scream, it really is a toss up.”

Keith could see Lance’s smile waver just the slightest bit at the insinuation as Lorin grinned, displaying a mouth of sharpened canines.

“About that,” Lance took another step towards the front of the cell. “I think there’s been a misunderstanding. See, he’s not a Blade of Marmora.”

“Oh really?”

“Nope. I mean,” Lance gestured to Keith, “does he look Galran to you? It’s just a… a precious memento. That’s all.”

“Hm,” Namenta tapped her chin with a long finger. “You do make a point.”

Keith’s heart stuttered with hope that maybe, maybe, Lance could talk them out of this.

“But we should make sure.”

And before he could so much as blink Namenta had spread a hand and _vines_ erupted from her fingers, latching about Lance’s wrists and with a yelp he was dragged across the cell to slam into the bars, Keith giving a shout behind him. The other hand lifted and more vines, these ones edged with thorns, wrapped about Lance’s throat.

Lance swallowed and felt one scratch against his skin.

“Um, this is moving a little fast,” he managed, trying to speak around his racing heart. “You know, I’m more of a movie, dinner—”

The vines tightened and he choked, feeling blood trickle down his neck.

“Come here, little maybe Blade,” called Namenta. “Lorin has something for you.”

The silent alien flicked a hand towards a holster at her side and his knife appeared in her hand.

Keith stared.

It was so close.

If he could get it, change it into a sword, he could—

“Now, now, nothing funny,” Namenta warned. “You try and attack and Lance here,” her vines tightened again and Lance gagged as more crimson painted his neck, “will lose his head. But don’t worry sweetie,” a leaf blossomed and stroked Lance’s cheek, “I promise it won’t hurt. Much.”

Keith took a jerky step forward, picking up pace until he was at the front of the bars, inches from Lance, who was still pulled flush against them.

“Take the knife,” Namenta said as Lorin held it hilt out.

Keith gave a short nod, palms sweating but trying not to show how nervous he was.

He had barely used it since the trial when he’d unlocked it. Previously it had done nothing if he held it in hand, the sigil white on the hilt. But…

But he remembered how it had glowed after, a sick Galran purple.

If…

If it did that now…

He reached out and wrapped his fingers about the hilt, the hold comforting despite everything.

The sigil lit up.

Lorin yanked it away within the tick and Keith’s hand slammed against the bars.

“Ah,” Namenta said softly, luminous eyes boring down at Keith. “So you are its owner. And that means you,” she turned her gaze to Lance, “lied to me.”

Her grip tightened again, both about his wrists and neck, and Lance let out a garbled gasp.

“Stop it!” Keith snarled.

“I don’t like liars, Lance.”

Lance whined in the back of his throat, eyes pin pricked.

Keith realized he couldn’t breathe.

“He didn’t lie!” Keith’s hands bunched helplessly at his sides. Lance was right next to him and he couldn't do _anything_ as Lance let out another choking sound _._ All he could do was talk and as had been established many times before he was not good at that.

But words poured from his mouth as Lance started to turn a delicate shade of blue. “I’m not a Blade. I swear. I’m not. The knife was my mother’s.”

“And yet I do not believe you.”

“I swear it.”

Lance’s knees buckled.

“Please,” Keith was alarmed to hear his voice rising in pitch. “Please, he can’t breathe. Pl—”

Namenta’s vines withdrew and Lance collapsed to the ground, hacking and wheezing.

The blood was bright against the dark undersuit.

Before Keith could even take a step to Lance’s side — although what he could do he had no idea — the vines were back, wrapping this time about his own body and pinning his arms to his sides before he was _lifted_ into the air.

The door to the cell opened.

Keith struggled, twisting uselessly, as Lorin entered, drawing off her right glove, and made for Lance, who was still hunched over, arms braced on the ground, and struggling to draw breath.

Lorin’s right hand descended on Lance’s neck and Lance…

_Screamed._

He collapsed fully to the floor and the alien went with him, keeping her hand splayed about his neck. His screaming grew louder as he writhed, limbs spasming even as he remained pinned.

Keith could make out little blue sparks dancing along Lorin’s skin.

“Stop it!” Keith could barely hear himself over Lance’s cries. “Stop!”

The alien pressed down harder.

Lance’s scream turned into a wail.

And then it cut off abruptly as his body went limp. Lorin calmly put her glove back on, grabbed Lance by his hair, and _dragged_ him across the floor.

Keith could do nothing but watch as Lance was brought to a table in what he was realizing was a _torture chamber_ now illuminated from the previous dark cast outside of the cell and the alien lifted him onto it as though he weighed nothing.

His left arm hung loose over the edge.

He looked dead.

That didn’t stop Lorin from securing each limb into a restraint; his ankles spread to the edges of the table, his hands at his sides, and a strap across his calves, thighs, and a final one over his still bleeding neck.

She stepped away from the table with a nod and that was apparently the signal as Keith felt the vines uncoil and then he was falling.

He smashed into the ground, shoulder taking the worst of it, but the pain didn’t even phase him as he scrambled to his feet.

Lance was…

God.

This was all his fault.

“Let him go.” He was grateful it came out more of a demand than a plea.

“We will,” Namenta smiled at him, “once you provide us the information we desire. Information sells for a lot, little Blade, and yours will go for a high price indeed.”

“I’m not a Blade,” Keith repeated, panic starting to claw at his throat because he couldn’t answer their questions because he _didn’t know anything._

She hummed noncommittally.

They didn’t believe him.

Keith’s stomach churned.

What did he do?

What did he do what did he do what did he—

“I’ll make this easy, little Blade,” Namenta interrupted his spiral. “You answer my questions and Lance remains unharmed. Fail to do so, and, well…”

“Punish me,” Keith whispered, demanded, pleaded. “He has nothing to do with this.”

“But doesn’t he?” she asked. “After all, despite the fact you abandoned him to start you then surrendered to save him. Interesting, little Blade. I think he means much more than ‘nothing’ to you and I can’t wait to see how much. Besides,” she grinned, “I need you to be able to talk, sweetie, and you can’t do that if you’re screaming.”

She flounced towards the table, braid bouncing behind her.

“Let’s see what we’re working with, hm? A fresh canvas is always so delightful.”

Keith’s hands gripped about the bars as Namenta’s fingers elongated again, this time looking more like bark than vines, and she _shredded_ Lance’s shirt in a blink, leaving the front of his torso bare although his arms were still encased in black.

Lance didn’t even twitch.

“Oh, what is this?” and Keith could see her prodding at the wound on Lance’s side, black thread stark against his semi-inflamed skin. “Stitching? What a _delicious_ concept. Sewing the skin. Oh gosh, I want to try.”

What?

No.

No no no no.

The tree-like alien had moved on from that perusal and was tugging off Lance’s gloves with a delighted squeal. “Look at his hands, Lorin. They’re so _elegant._ I can’t _wait_ to break them.”

They…

They were talking about Lance as though he were some… some _object._

Namenta had moved onto Lance’s head now, carding shortened fingers through his hair. “It’s so soft,” she marveled, twisting it. “Just like his skin. Oh, Lorin, he is going to be so much fun to play with.”

Toy, Keith amended with sinking horror.

Lance was a toy, all of this was entertainment, a game, and he had no idea how to play.

He wasn’t like Lance. He couldn’t play along, ‘fake it till he made it.’ He failed at lying, couldn’t weave a story, couldn’t protect his teammate and why the _hell_ had Shiro ever thought he would make a good leader?

He’d fucked up.

He’d fucked up so bad.

This had been a selfish mission from the start and somehow he’d made it even more so.

He never should have let Lance come.

No.

No, that wasn’t right.

This wasn’t because Lance had come with. This was because he, Keith, had fucked up as a leader, as a teammate as a… as a friend.

And just like the Tylina had said… Lance was going to pay the price.

Lorin had removed her glove again and Keith could only watch as she placed a single finger this time against Lance’s chest and the light jumped onto his skin.

Lance came to with a gasp, choking himself against the restraint across his neck and confusion prevailed over the pain for a moment as _he couldn’t move why couldn’t he move?_ before a pair of green eyes leaned over him and Lance remembered _exactly_ where he was even though the location — a table? — was new.

“Ready to play, sweetie?” Namenta whispered, breath warm on his face.

“Can,” Lance swallowed against the thick feeling in his throat, “can I take a raincheck?”

She only laughed and patted his cheek.

“Okay, little Blade,” her attention turned to the left and Lance’s did as well, rolling his head under the restraint.

Keith stared back, a few feet away and trapped in the cell. His hands were wrapped about the bars as though with enough force he could tear them apart.

Lance wished he could. 

“We’ll start easy,” Namenta said. “Tell me the coordinates for your home base.”

Keith’s gaze did not leave Lance’s face. His throat bobbed as he swallowed. “I told you. I’m not a Blade.”

Lance heard the sizzle before he felt it and barely managed to keep the cry locked inside as what looked like lightning out of his peripheral danced across his right shoulder.

“Try again.”

“I’m not a Blade,” Keith repeated.

Another arc raced across Lance’s chest.

He bit down on his tongue as his body spasmed.

“Wrong answer.”

Lance lost count of how many times that question was asked.

He knew he screamed a couple times though, especially when the shocks had wrapped about his neck, he knew Keith’s answers of the question varied from anger to pleas to hurt him instead to sounding so _scared._

Lance hated that response the most.

Keith shouldn’t sound like that.

He tried his best to keep the screams inside, to not show how much he was hurting.

He was only hurting Keith with them.

It was a losing battle.

He wondered how long they were going to do this for.

He wondered how long he could last.

_Dios._

Lance forced open exhausted eyes, the world slowly coming back into focus as he blearily realized he must have passed out again. Keith was not looking at him now, his gaze fixed to the left although it was not a stare narrowed with hate or anger or even frustration.

He looked desperate and scared.

It reminded Lance of when he’d witnessed Keith’s panic attack on the bridge, how terrifying that must have felt.

He was the cause of it now.

He couldn’t do anything to stop it.

He tried to speak, to tell Keith that it wasn’t that bad, really, but his throat felt like shredded pieces of glass and the only sound he made was a pained sounding cough.

He tasted blood.

“Oh dear, he doesn’t sound so good. How about we try a different question, hm? Give him a little break. Tell me, Keith, what planet do you and Lance hail from?”

Lance felt himself stiffen.

No.

Keith couldn’t answer that.

They had done all they could to distance themselves from Earth to protect their families.

But…

But Keith didn’t have family there.

He had no one there, it sounded like.

And Keith _could not lie._ Lance had seen it. What had the Tylina said? Keith was honorable.

Keith could not lie and if he tried he would be called out, be found out.

So would he…?

Would he…?

To spare Lance pain here would he…?

Lance tried to catch Keith’s eye but the other boy was not looking at him.

To Lance’s relief though Keith gave a short jerk of his head in the negative.

 _Gracias a Dios._ He wouldn’t say—

Lance _screamed_ as lightning raced through his left hand but above that was a white-hot fire as he felt his pinky finger _break._

“Where are you from, Keith?”

Lance couldn’t see Keith through reflexive tears, but it had to have been another head shake as he felt his index snap, _shatter,_ and he couldn’t hold back that scream either.

Keith gripped the bars so hard he felt like they should break as Lance’s screams echoed about the room.

They finished his left hand and he watched Lorin pick up Lance’s right hand as far as it would lift in the restraint.

Tears were trickling down Lance’s visible cheek, sweat-damp bangs clinging to his forehead and tremors from both the pain and aftershocks shuddering through him.

He never asked them to stop.

He never begged.

He was silent except for the screams and cries he could not hold in and now the harsh panting and little whimpers.

And his hand…

Oh God. Keith felt sick. The fingers weren’t just broken. They were twisted, burned by the electric currents.

Keith had to do something. He couldn’t watch this any longer. Couldn’t let Lance continue to suffer.

He couldn’t say Earth. Couldn’t say even something like Terra.

Think.

Think think think.

“Arizona,” he blurted out as Namenta asked again. “We’re… we’re from Arizona.”

“Arizona,” she repeated. “I have not heard of it.”

“It’s small. Desert landscape.”

Namenta hummed. “I believe you are finally telling me the truth, little Blade. Now tell me, how did a Galra like yourself come from such a small planet?”

“My mom,” Keith said. “She… she came there.”

She had to have had. It’s not like his pop had gone to space.

“Why?”

That he could not answer, images of maps and ley lines and the Blue Lion and then Voltron flashing before his eyes. They had to be connected, he was certain, but…

But he couldn’t say that.

Being cast as a Blade of Marmora was dangerous, being found out as a Paladin of Voltron would be deadly.

“I… I don’t know.”

“And back to the lying.”

Lance didn’t scream that time but he let out a choked sounding whimper as a new finger was broken.

“I don’t know,” Keith repeated, voice cracking. “I never knew her.”

“Not good enough.”

Keith could hear the break that time, smell burnt flesh and Lance _wailed,_ head smashing back against the table.

“I swear I don’t know. Please, st-stop,” and the slip, the stutter, scared Keith more than he wanted to admit.

That was the sound of a terrified child, cowering and cringing and waiting for a strike because he’d talked back, because he hadn’t been quiet, because _he existed._

“Is your mom a Blade?”

“I, I don’t know.”

Pop had mentioned his mom one time, the night before he died when he’d given Keith the knife. He’d said she’d had to leave to protect them.

She had to have been a Blade.

But was she still alive?

That Keith had no idea.

Lance jerked on the table.

“I don’t know, I don’t know,” Keith repeated the phrase like a prayer. “Probably. Maybe. The, the knife. It’s hers.”

“It _was_ hers,” Namenta corrected. “This is an unlocked blade, Keith. Oh, don’t give me that look. You think we of the Merklan Group don’t know our wares? Luxite is an incredibly rare material and its properties are enormous. That blade would not glow because you are Galran, you must prove yourself to it. Which means,” her smirk widened, “that you are a Blade yourself.”

“No, I’m not. I swear I’m not.”

Keith had never regretted more learning of his heritage, of completing the trial.

It had only brought trouble and despair and more questions than answers.

Lance screamed again.

“Try again.”

Keith shook his head, eyes stinging with repressed tears.

Nothing he said made a difference. Even answering had given Lance maybe a minute of reprieve.

They broke his thumb.

Keith didn’t think he would ever get the sound of Lance’s screams out of his head.

“Oh dear, we’re all out of fingers,” Namenta sighed. “But,” she brightened, “I guess that means I get to try my hand at sewing.”

Lance moaned low in his throat.

“I’ve got to go track down a needle and some thread, so you boys hold tight for a little bit, okay?” Namenta reached a hand out, smoothing back Lance’s bangs. “Be back soon, sweetie. Don’t miss me too much.”

The two aliens crossed the room to a door, Lorin flashed a keycard on the pad, and they exited without another word.

Only Lance’s choked breaths sounded in the room, his eyes scrunched closed although his head was tilted in Keith’s direction.

“Lance?” Keith whispered. “Are… are you…?”

Ocean eyes blinked open.

“Pr-present.”

“I’m…” Keith’s hands clenched around the bars. “I’m so sorry.”

“‘s not your… your f-fault.”

“Like hell it isn’t,” Keith snapped.

Lance didn’t respond except to shudder, eyes slipping back closed.

Keith wanted to say he would fix this. That he would save them.

But…

But he couldn’t lie.

Not even to himself.

He had no idea how they were getting out.

He…

He wasn’t sure they were going to.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Everyone catch the little _Sin_ nod with last bit? :) 
> 
> Just as a head's up, this is going to be the last fanfiction update (minus finishing up _Trying So Hard_ on Tuesday) for a while. A lot of things have been happening that have been leading to me falling out of love with fanfiction and an event earlier this week was the last tipping point. So I'm going on break, probably for about a month. I'll still be intermittently on my Tumblr and Patreon and posting zine updates and the like, but I will not be posting fanfiction again until at least after the Fourth of July weekend. Thank you all for your understanding and apologies to those who have been enjoying this fic for the hiatus right now. Your comments still cheer me up like nothing else though so please, if you can still feel free to leave one. Author appreciation goes a long, long way for many, many things.


	9. Nine

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Warning:** More graphic violence (and imagery) ahead.

 

At some point Keith figured Lance had to lose his voice, had to fall unconscious.

But it hadn’t happened yet, or at least not for long as Lorin would wake him up with a quick shock.

Instead for the past — hour? Two? Three? — he’d been forced to listen as Lance screamed and cried and eventually fell into sobs broken up by Spanish as the two interrogators cut him open — chest, stomach, arms, and then stripped him of his pants and took to his legs and thighs — and then sewed him back together.

With wire.

Thread would have been bad enough, the way they were slicing jagged lines into him and then pulling them closed, but the wire cut further, deeper, into already raw flesh. Not only that, but the wire was some type of metal.

Keith knew that as he’d watched the entire spool light up blue as Lorin stitched away, sewing literal lightning into Lance’s skin.

He’d screamed so loud.

And to add insult to the injury?

They made the cuts with Keith’s knife.

He felt sick to see it used as a torture device, to know his mom’s legacy was being used to hurt others.

Although…

He supposed he had started that train of events first.

Sickness and guilt had burned harder.

They asked Keith more about Blade activities, about his mom. They wanted to know how he’d gotten from Arizona into space (and spaceship hadn’t been satisfactory), to know how he knew Lance (and hadn’t bought the mercenary cover story, not that Keith had had much to work with), when he’d activated the Blade.

On and on and on with questions Keith couldn’t answer for one reason or another.

Keith was losing his own voice with his pleas and screams to stop hurting Lance, to punish him instead, he _didn’t know,_ please, please stop.

But just like his foster families, just like the group home workers, they didn’t listen.

It only seemed to make it worse.

Just when Keith thought his ears might start bleeding themselves, Lance’s cry as Lorin sewed up the gash she’d made just above his hip cut off.

He’d passed out again.

Keith let out a shuddering breath, praying that they didn’t try and wake him this time, just as he had every time.

Lance’s body let alone mind couldn’t take any more.

That seemed to be the consensus too from the aliens as they set about undoing the restraints and then Namenta stretched out her fingers and scooped Lance almost gently into a vine-made cradle and walked towards Keith.

“Step back from the door, sweetie,” she smiled at him, “or I’ll leave him outside.”

Keith did so, legs trembling as he realized the bars might have been the only thing holding him up.

The door opened and Namenta floated Lance in, setting him down with a tenderness on the floor that was at odds with the violence she had just committed, the blood splattered over her armor and coating her hands testament. Keith didn’t even try to rush her.

“We’ll be back tomorrow, little Blade. Do try and keep him alive until then, okay? Otherwise it’ll be you on the table.”

Keith swallowed thickly. Keep Lance alive for them to torture him again, or let Lance die.

Both options were horrible, but death… death was worse.

Although depending on how long this stretched… death might be a mercy.

Keith shuddered and tried to shake the thought away.

“Wait,” he called out as Namenta closed the door.

She raised an eyebrow. “You wish to play with me already?”

“We need water,” Keith pushed out. “And medica—”

“You think to ask things of me?” she cut him off. “When you could not even answer one question to my satisfaction?”

Keith licked dry lips and stepped forward. “Pl—”

Vines shot forward through the bars and _slammed_ into Keith, propelling him backwards and against the far wall, pinning him there by his shoulders and chest, although they didn’t stop him from struggling to break free.

He wasn’t going down without a fight.

Lorin came silently to stand next to her partner, two buckets in hand.

Keith couldn’t make out what was inside either.

“You will get what we wish to give you,” Namenta sneered. “Say thank you now, little Blade, for our generosity.”

Keith’s struggles froze.

_“Say thank you you little shit.”_

“ _You should be grateful for even that much.”_

_“Beg, boy, for your dinner.”_

“ _I took you in, you ungrateful—”_

“I guess you don’t want it,” Namenta’s voice broke into the memories. “Very well. We will—”

“Please,” Keith gasped out. “We want it.”

Namenta paused, vines still pressing him to the wall, waiting for more.

“Th-thank you,” Keith managed.

“For?”

“For your generosity.”

“And even the most boorish can be taught manners,” she smirked. “Very well. Lorin?”

The door was opened and the buckets placed inside with a sharp _clang_ on the metal floor before it closed. Only then did Namenta release the vines although Keith remained sitting against the wall.

Namenta let out a laugh that was anything but kind and turned on her heel, cape fluttering. A few ticks later they exited the room, plunging the torture chamber into darkness and leaving only a single light on in the cell.

Keith went to Lance first, lying exactly where he’d been deposited.

His chest was faintly rising, each exhale a harsh rasp and blood was slick on his skin from the wounds. The metal wires gleamed in the light and Keith felt his stomach roll at the sight, flesh pieces sewn together like a craft project gone wrong.

God.

There was the sharp metallic scent of blood, a more bitter one of vomit where Lance’s stomach had lost the battle and the sickly sweet of urine, no doubt from the constant shock torture. Lance was still trembling even in unconsciousness, limbs giving little jerks and highlighting how _broken_ his hands were.

God.

“Lance,” he whispered, kneeling down, reaching a shaking hand of his own out and brushing it against a tear-tracked cheek.

Lance didn’t respond at all.

Keith moved then for the buckets, both about a foot tall. The first contained water and he let out a shaky sigh.

Thank God.

The second was empty save for a pair of scissors and two washcloths.

That was it.

That…

That couldn’t be it.

Keith swallowed and squared his shoulders.

He’d worked with less before.

Although his wounds… he looked back at Lance, at the metal wires and burns and blood and ripped flesh and swallowed again, tasting acid on his tongue.

He’d never handled anything like this.

But Lance needed him to and so he would.

Keith took a quick drink — both to soothe his own parched throat and to make certain it was actually water (and it was) — and got to work.

He divvied the water up into the two buckets, one to be used for drinking and one for cleaning, and then wet one of the cloths.

Lance’s only clothes remaining were his boxer shorts, which Keith carefully but quickly eased off to both rinse and clean Lance up, apologizing softly as Lance whimpered at the handling before he redressed him. He wiped down his face then, the tear tracks and sweat and last bits of bile that had dried to his chin and lips.

Once that was done Keith turned his attention to the metal stitches. The scissors had been left for a reason and as much as he hated the thought, leaving the wire in was only going to make the wounds worse.

Well, for most of them. There was one cut on Lance’s stomach and another on his thigh that were _deep,_ still sluggishly bleeding even now.

He’d have to leave those ones until Lance could go into a pod.

If he ever went into a pod.

Keith pushed the thought away and chose to concentrate on what he could do. Thinking of what the future had in store only made his own heart race and breath hard to come by.

The sharp snip of scissors echoed in the cell, Keith wincing with each cut and wincing more as he tugged on the wires, sliding them through flesh.

He was grateful Lance was unconscious. He had no doubt the removal was still painful.

But before he was even halfway done Lance started to stir, minute trembles growing stronger and harsher whimpers breaking through.

He jolted, eyes flying open, just as Keith was pulling a wire free from a wound to his chest, and Keith had no choice but to press with his other hand and pin Lance down.

The other boy let out a high whine of both pain and fear and Keith felt his heart twist.

“Hey, hey,” Keith pitched his voice low, hoping it hid the shakiness he felt. “It’s just me. Keith. It’s… it’s okay.”

It wasn’t okay.

But Lance stilled and ocean eyes focused on Keith’s face.

“K-Keith?”

“Yeah.”

Lance swallowed, face scrunching at the action.

Keith couldn’t begin to imagine how raw his throat was.

“You up for a drink?” he asked quietly. “We have water.”

“ _Por f-favor.”_

Keith inched over to the bucket and dragged it by the handle, frowning though as there was no way Lance was going to be able to take a careful sip out of such a big surface. He paused for only a second before he pulled off blood streaked gloves and then cupped a handful. His other hand he shifted carefully beneath Lance’s head and lifted it gently, highlighting the dark bruises on Lance’s throat from constantly pressing against the restraint.

It spoke to the situation that Lance didn’t even make a comment as he carefully drank out of Keith’s hand. Keith refilled it twice more before he eased Lance back down.

At least his back had remained uninjured.

“Will…” Lance swallowed, voice still a rasp. “Will I live, doc?”

Keith desperately wished he could smile like last time.

“I’m sorry,” he answered instead. “Lance, I… I’m so _sorry.”_

“Told you. Not your fault.” And despite the breathless quality to the words Lance’s gaze was steady as he met Keith’s.

Keith shook his head. “No. It is. All of it. I, I should never have done this. The mission. It…” he could feel his eyes growing hot and his throat tight. “It… it’s just a knife.”

“No,” Lance said quietly. A broken hand twitched at his side and Keith startled as he felt those mangled fingers land atop his own. “It’s your mom’s knife. From, from your pop.”

“It’s a _knife,_ Lance,” Keith choked out. “You…you’re my… my _friend._ And you…” he gave a weak gesture with his unoccupied hand at Lance. “Because of m-me.”

Lance’s face was gentle and filled with a kindness Keith did not deserve. “Family… family is important. To me, it’s… it’s everything. If… if that was all I had left of my mamá and papá I’d do anything to get it back too.”

“But _this?”_ Keith looked pointedly at Lance’s broken body.

That should be him.

“Keith,” Lance pressed his fingers atop his hand despite how much it had to hurt him. “ _You’re_ my family too. And… and that means you’re important to me.”

Keith blinked.

Lance’s words registered.

He felt his cheeks darken and a breathy, “What?” croaked out.

Lance’s face had a slight pink cast to it too but he repeated the words, holding the amethyst gaze. “You’re my family, my brother in arms. At least… at least I’d like you to be.”

Keith didn’t know what to say.

Family?

Brothers?

He’d just been acknowledging Lance as a friend and Lance thought of him as…

As that?

It had to be the pain. Delirium.

But…

But Keith knew that wasn’t right.

_“You’ll protect me, right?”_

_“We’ll get it back.”_

_“You are a good leader.”_

_“I’ll go too.”_

Lance had been trusting in him, supporting him, believing in him for much longer than this mission.

Keith had just been so blinded by the loss of Shiro he hadn’t even looked to see that, dared to believe, that someone else, anyone else, could actually care about him.

Actually want him in their lives.

Keith was alarmed to feel tears filling his eyes.

“Oh, mullet,” Lance murmured in that still raspy voice and that was all it took for them to spill over.

Keith ducked his head, wrapping one arm about his stomach and curling up around it.

Like a hug.

The most pathetic hug Lance had ever seen in his life.

Keith cried silently; shoulders shaking and tears dripping down even behind the cover of his bangs, but he made not a sound.

It was almost sadder than the fact Keith was crying at all.

Lance forced himself onto his elbows, body screaming at him not to move but this was more important than any pain. He made it to a hunched sit with a low groan and that pulled Keith out of his misery, red-rimmed eyes lifting and then widening.

Lance leaned forward and wrapped bloodied arms about Keith before he could back up.

Keith stiffened…

And then his arms went carefully about Lance’s lower back and a dark head pressed itself against Lance’s shoulder.

It had been months since someone (Shiro) had hugged him.

And Lance’s arms… despite the blood, despite the tremble still shaking them.

They felt safe.

“We’re gonna be okay,” Lance whispered. “We will. We’ll get out of here.”

“Lance…”

“You’ll take care of me, right?”

Keith drew in a shuddering breath.

Could he?

Could they?

Yes.

Yes.

They were not going to die here.

They were going…

Going _home._

Together.

Keith nodded. “Y-yeah.”

But…

But he had no idea how they were going to do that.  

“Small steps,” Lance murmured and Keith realized he’d said that aloud.

He shuddered a tick later and Keith became aware that Lance had been steadily leaning more and more forward.

He shouldn’t have been sitting up to begin with.

“You idiot,” Keith said, although fondly and based on Lance’s huff of breath across his neck he heard it. “Lie down before you…”

“Hurt myself more?” Lance filled in. “K-kay.”

Keith helped him do so, chest tightening at how _pale_ Lance was, a new sheen of sweat dotting his brow.

Sitting had not been a good idea.

And yet…

Yet Keith had a feeling that hug had done more for both of them than any medical attention or rest could.

But it was back to doing just that.

“I need to finish removing the wire,” Keith said quietly. “It’s… it’s cutting you more.”

“Ah.”

“Some of it though… I have to leave it. The wounds…”

“‘s fine.”

Lance closed his eyes as Keith repositioned himself, scissors in a slightly steadier hand than before.

Lance flinched at the _snip_ and Keith stilled.

“Keith? Can… can you,” Lance licked chapped lips, “distract m-me? Please? It…”

It hurt.

A lot.

“Um, yeah, sure.”

He didn’t know what to say.

Shiro would know, he was sure.

Shiro always knew.

He missed him.

So, so much.

“K-Keith?”

He’d let the pause stretch too long and Lance’s eyes were open again, glassy with pain but still concerned.

“Sorry. Thinking. About… about Shiro.” The name was barely audible.

“You two are close.”

It wasn’t phrased as a question.

And Keith suddenly knew exactly what to talk about.

“He’s my brother,” Keith said softly. “It’s… it’s how we met. A big brother program. And Shiro… Shiro was the first person to believe in me. To… to tell me I could be something other than a, a… a foster kid. He saved me.”

Lance’s lips twitched into a smile. “Sounds like Shiro.”

“Do… do you want to hear about… about him?”

Lance’s face softened even further. “I’d love to. Whatever you want to share.”

And Keith found himself practically word vomiting more than he’d ever spoken in his life as he pulled out stitches and bandaged wounds with his own shirt that he cut apart and did his best to reset Lance’s fingers that weren’t completely shattered.

He spoke about the Big Brother program. How Shiro had gotten him removed from an… from a bad foster family and Lance hadn’t pushed although his hand had lightly bumped against Keith’s knee in a clear show of concern.

Keith mentioned how that hadn’t been the worst one. Not even Shiro knew how bad some of them were.

He didn’t like to talk about it. The memories… he was still scared by them.

Lance had placed a hand on Keith’s knee, gave it the barest squeeze, and left it there.

It was grounding.

He talked about Shiro letting him ride his motorcycle and discovered his driving skills. How Shiro’d gotten him into the Garrison early, how he roomed with Shiro for a couple months before he was officially accepted, met Matt and Shiro’s friends. How much of an anime nerd Shiro was, how he hadn’t like the fame from being the face of the fighter pilot program.

He said he got kicked out for punching Iverson after they’d refused to search for Shiro, after they’d tarnished his name, and he’d been so _angry_ and Shiro hadn’t been there to stop him.

He talked about how much he missed him. How _scared_ he was to think of what could be happening to him right now.

How afraid he was that he’d never see him again.

“We’ll find him,” Lance said softly as Keith announced he was finished, the last wire removed, bandage secured and blood wiped off as best as he could. “I promise, Keith. We will find him. I know it.”

“If we get out of here.”

“I… I have an idea, actually,” Lance said and he locked gazes with Keith. “How… how many of those metal wires do we have?”

Keith looked at the pile of blood-stained pieces he’d pulled through Lance’s flesh.

There were too many.

“A lot,” he settled on.

“And can you twist them?”

“They’re pretty malleable,” Keith gingerly picked one up, red blood smeared all along it.

“And what about in a bunch?”

“In a…?” Keith frowned and picked up two more and held them alongside the first.

Bending it was harder.

He relayed it and a small, if sad smile cracked Lance’s face.

“Then… then here’s what we’re going to do.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Poor boys. But sounds like they've got a plan :)  
> I wasn't planning on posting this still for about another month (I really loved this fic, I did, it's just... fallen out of love with me I suppose) but I have Patreon obligations and needed a chaptered update and so we can all say thank to you to those tiers. This chapter was brought to you by the letters WHC and HCWM and the number 9 ;p  
> If you're still here and enjoying the fic I'd love to hear from you. Drop a comment about what you enjoyed about the chapter, a favorite scene or line, a part that really resonated with you... Please and thank you ♥ Thanks to those who do, I really appreciate it.


	10. Ten

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **Warnings:** Some graphic-ish fighting and deaths

Keith hated this plan.

It could work, he acknowledged that. It was actually pretty brilliant.

But…

But it was going to force Lance to…

To…

They’d called Lance merciful.

They were right.

But this plan...

Lance had told him he could do it.

He’d been a mixture of ashen and green but he’d looked determined.

“ _You can’t hold back,”_ Keith had told him, fingers wrapping and wrapping the metal wires into a sharpened point.

“ _I know.”_

“ _Lance—”_

_“I can do this. I can, Keith. I… I have to.”_

Keith knew Lance could.

He just didn’t want him to.

Lance’s hands were not meant to be stained with blood. Not like this.

But they didn’t have much of a choice.

Lance wasn’t worth anything to them, not really. And Keith had a growing sickening feeling that they _wanted_ Lance to die with the hopes it would send Keith over the edge.

They were right on that front too.

Although they were wrong if they thought they would gain anything from Keith if that were to happen.

They were even more wrong if they thought he would let Lance die on his watch.

No.

They were getting out of here.

Just… Keith wished it wasn’t like this.

They had very little to work with though. Once Lance was out of the cell and strapped down he was defenseless, Keith was trapped behind bars and both had agreed without actually saying so that if Lance went back onto that table…

He might not be coming off alive.

The Merklan Group was overconfident, certain of their intelligence and observations.

The only advantage they had was to go against those things.

Lance could not be merciful.

Keith could not be honorable.

And to go against those core values… it hurt. It felt wrong.

But dying here was not an option. The aliens here did not care about them, would not show them any sort of mercy or kindness.

They could not afford to do the same.

It still made Lance feel sick.

They hadn’t wanted this. They’d just wanted Keith’s knife back, had been willing to try and work out a peaceful solution.

They hadn’t even been given the chance.

It was that knowledge that gave Lance the push to follow through with this plan, to know that he and Keith were by far the first people to suffer at the hands of the Merklan Group for sheer greed.

Dripping in blood and gold…

Lance understood it far too well now.

He’d spent the night in fitful sleep, in and out of consciousness as his wounds flared and his hands _ached_ and _burned_ all at once and there was little to do to ease the pain.

He was freezing too.

Not surprising given the fact he was wearing almost nothing, but it was more than that. The injuries were part of it, some of them hot to the touch already, but mostly he was _tired_ and _scared_ even though he was trying not to be and it was manifesting itself in shivering, not helped at all by the still intermittent shudders from the shocks and remembering _that_ just made him shake more.

To his immense surprise Keith had offered to be his pillow (averted eyes and pink cheeks all the while and that was not surprising as Lance had gathered from Keith’s snippets of his past that touch more often meant pain and hurt than safety and comfort and he shied away from it still) and Lance had found himself being gently maneuvered into Keith’s lap; his own legs stretching off over one of Keith’s legs but the rest of him pressed against a warm chest with arms snug (if careful considering the wounds all over his own front and arms) about his shoulders.

Lance still woke up throughout the night even though Keith told him to sleep, shivering at times, throat crying from the earlier abuse at others, and Keith had presented a cupped hand with water for him to sip from each time.

Time was hard to tell in the dark room and cell, but Keith reported when Lance awoke the last time he thought it had been about seven varga.

Apparently Keith had chosen not to sleep. There’d be time for that later, he’d said, face tight. Right now he was more worried about being caught unawares.

Lance saw the logic in that but seeing the smudged circles beneath Keith’s eyes even though he knew he really didn’t look much better made him feel guilty.

Keith had spent the night forming the wires into a sharp spike about the size of Lance’s palm and half as wide. Lance had practiced holding it with his left hand — less damaged than the right as Lorin hadn’t started twisting those fingers as she broke them — and while beyond painful he had a decent enough grip.

It was what he had to do with it that made his stomach turn.

And it could be any second now.

Was he ready?

No.

Not at all.

Did he have to be?

Yes.

If he didn’t do this…

They were both going to die.

There was a time and place for mercy.

This was not it.

He’d deal with the fallout later.

At least he’d be alive to do so.

Keith had lowered him to the ground and Lance was curled up, hiding the weapon under his hand against his chest, and trying to feign unconsciousness even though he felt as coiled tight as a spring.

Just when he was debating shifting, asking Keith for another drink to soothe his still raw throat, there was a hiss of a door and sudden bright _light_ flooded the space. Lance closed his eyes with a wince.

“Good morning sweeties,” he heard Namenta call out, her footsteps light and a heavier set trailing behind. “How are we doing today?”

It wasn't Namenta's sing-song voice Lance focused on though. It was the silence that signified her partner.

Lorin.

His hand tightened on his makeshift weapon.

She’d hurt him the most, had grinned all the while as she threaded him with lightning and burns.

He still wished…

He didn’t have to do this.

“Don’t touch him,” came Keith’s angry growl and he could sense the other boy stepping in front of him, shielding him.

They both knew he couldn’t, not really.

Not for this to work.

“Aw, look at you being all protective. It’s a good look, little Blade. A little too late though, hm?”

“Please,” and Lance nearly started at how _desperate_ Keith sounded. “Don’t hurt him.”

“It is not us hurting him, it’s you,” Namenta responded. “You know that, don’t you? You’re the cause of his pain. Now if you were to offer me up some information…”

“I told you, I’m not a Blade. I don’t know anything.”

“And his screams will be music to my ears. Now, little Blade, drop those scissors.”

In answer Lance heard Keith’s foot kick the bucket of blood infused water and _catapult_ it across the cell.

There was a splash of water and a sucked in breath of disgust.

Lance suppressed a smirk.

Bullseye.

“Why, you—”

Keith kicked the other bucket, water spilling all over the floor that time. There was a whoosh of vines then, a clatter of the scissors striking the ground and Keith let out a grunt of pain.

Lance prayed Keith had gotten his arm up. He couldn’t look to confirm and if he hadn’t…

He knew how tight those vines could be.

“Lorin,” Namenta prompted and the cell door opened with a clang.

Lance took a steadying breath.

This was it.

He was going to...

“Don’t touch him,” Keith snarled although it came out more a plea as the footsteps crossed the cell.

A hand clamped down on Lance’s shoulder.

Gloved, he noted.

He swallowed thickly as the other hand went to his hair to drag him as before.

He had to remain limp.

Just until…

His toes brushed through the puddled water.

Now.

Oh _Dios._

He opened his eyes, the floor blurring up.

And then he threw his weight to the side as though having a convulsion.

Lance felt Lorin bending down to adjust her grip, stepping in front of him and a glimmer of her unprotected neck and face coming within his reach.

He struck.

He whipped his left hand up, spike gripped so tight he could feel it cutting into his own flesh and…

And impaled it through her neck.

Lorin didn’t scream.

She let out a gasping sort of gurgle as blue blood and lightning in equal measure spurted from the wound.

Lance screamed for them both as the shock traveled through the metal spike and into his own body.

He forced it in deeper.

It didn’t hurt.

It didn’t hurt it didn’t hurt it didn’t hurt.

Oh _Dios._

He was going to die too.

Ocean eyes, highlighted by the crackling blue glow playing over his skin, lifted and caught Keith’s gaze, blurred by tears and sheer agony.

He didn’t know how much longer he could do this.

Now, his eyes pled.

Please.

Now.

Keith had been pinned against the wall by Namenta’s vines from his earlier actions and she had kept them there even as her partner was _stabbed_ in front of her.

Keith sucked in a breath, preparing himself for pain (but his had nothing on Lance’s and therefore it wasn’t painful at all), and stretched out his right foot towards where the metal scissors had fallen.

Into the water.

That Lance was kneeling in with a literal live wire.

And lightning versus a tree especially one covered in water too…

It never ended well for the tree.

Over the sound of Lance’s wails and his own pounding pulse Keith heard the barest gasp from Namenta, felt the vines and branches start to pull away from around his neck.

He stepped on the scissors first.

Lightning raced up his leg, through his torso and Keith saw sparks dancing in his vision.

He also saw fire.

The plant limbs around him burst into flames at the strike and the _wail_ that Namenta made both hurt his ears and made a dark smirk pull on his face despite his own pain.

Good.

She deserved to suffer.

A few ticks later the lightning disappeared and he faintly heard a dull thump of a body hitting a puddle.

Lorin had just died.

The vines were retreating, charred and flaking and Keith traced them back to Namenta, her own skin scorched and what looked like sap leaking out of her visible face and neck.

She was going to retreat.

Call for reinforcements.

Keith wouldn’t let her.

He bent down, a stumble more than a graceful sweep, and picked up the scissors.

He was aware of Lance collapsing next to Lorin out of the corner of his eye.

There was nothing he could do.

Lance was okay.

He had to be.

His stumble turned into a step and then a sprint and Keith charged Namenta.

She lifted her hands, trying to force blackened limbs to make some sort of barrier.

She was too late.

Keith rammed the scissors through her throat.

Luminous green eyes widened, trekking from his face and then down to where his arm quivered.

She coughed once, twice.

And then her eyes went dark.

Keith released his grip on the scissors and stepped back, her body crashing to the ground.

He stood there for a second, chest heaving and body trembling from the adrenaline and shocks.

And then he whirled and ran back into the cell.

“Lance!” His feet splashed in the puddles of red and now blue-tinged water. “Lance!”

He grabbed Lance by his nearest arm and pulled him out of the mixture, kneeling down and staring at the slack face.

Oh God.

Lance couldn’t be…

“L-Lance,” he patted the pale cheek. “Lance, wake up.”

Please wake up.

Lance gave the barest perceptible shudder followed by a soft whimper.

Keith had never been so grateful to hear Lance in pain.

“Lance,” he repeated, tapping his face again. “Lance, wake up. It’s… it’s time to go home.”

A few ticks later Keith was rewarded with a sliver of dark blue peeking open.

“Shh, you’re okay,” Keith murmured as Lance’s face screwed up in pain and a low groan was torn from an already ravaged throat. “It’s okay. It’s… it’s over.”

Not quite, not until they escaped this hellhole, but for right now…

Right now it was.

“K-Keith,” Lance whispered.

His gaze moved past Keith and landed on the body of Lorin.

His lips wobbled.

Keith barely managed to turn Lance onto his knees before he was vomiting, all water and bile, and Keith rubbed a careful hand on Lance’s back in hopeful comfort.

“You had to,” he said quietly.

Lance let out a low sob.

“I kn-know.”

Keith let them have a minute, his own tremors gradually subsiding although Lance’s didn’t seem to be improving much.

Keith prayed he wasn’t going to go into shock.

A kill like that…

It was up close. Personal. Messy.

Keith hated that Lance knew what it was like now.

But because of what he’d done they had both lived.

And Lance had made it quick. Merciful, even, for all the pain that the alien had inflicted on him. He may have been forced to kill but Keith could tell, he _knew,_ that such an act would  not diminish Lance’s compassion and mercy.

That was just who he was.

Just as Keith knew his underhanded tricks and attacking a wounded, technically unarmed opponent did not diminish his honor.

Their strengths had been turned into weaknesses here, but that did not make them weak.

It made them stronger for overcoming them.

“We have to go,” Keith said into the silence broken only by Lance’s heavy breaths. “Can you walk?”

“M-maybe?”

He had to try.

But first…

“Your knife?”

As one they looked towards Lorin’s body and the holster obscured beneath her.

Keith swallowed thickly.

“If… if it’s not there,” he said slowly. “We leave without it.”

“Keith, no—”

“No,” Keith interrupted. “It… it is important to me. It’s all I have left of my parents. But,” he turned his gaze to Lance. “But it’s a knife. An object. And… And I will _never_ put it in front of…” he felt his cheeks heat. “In front of the people I care about ever again. They are far more important to me. _You_ are more important to me.”

“Keith…” Lance ducked his head down to hide his own flushed face.

Keith gave his back a small, awkward pat and Lance leaned into it with a pleased hum.

“Just give me a tick to check,” Keith said, making sure Lance was steady on his knees before he pulled his arm away. “Then we’re getting out of here.”

He rolled Lorin’s bulk over, more gently than she deserved, and his hand went to the holster on her hip.

A familiar handle greeted him.

Keith pulled it free and the sigil gave a soft glow, warm in his hand, before the knife expanded into a sword.

Keith felt immediately comforted by its weight.

They were getting out of here.

He also relieved Lorin of her keycard to get out of the room that he would bet activated other secure doors. All that was left to do now was find the hangar, commandeer a ship, and get out before anyone sounded the alarm. He was grateful for the Merklan’s overconfidence in the fact there were no cameras installed in their interrogation chamber or they’d already be in trouble.

He helped Lance to his feet although the taller boy swayed upon standing and would have fallen right back down had Keith not draped one of Lance’s arms about his neck.

“Sorry,” Lance whispered.

He thought he’d be able to walk as his feet hadn’t really been hurt but standing had made every wound flare and a sudden bout of lightheadedness no doubt from both blood loss and the pain.

“Don’t be. We’ll go slow, all right?”

“‘Kay.”

They went very slow.

Both because Lance could not move fast, even with Keith supporting him, and Keith pausing at every junction with his ears straining to make sure there were no oncoming persons.

They really couldn’t afford a fight.

Keith wasn’t sure if it was luck or the universe deciding to let them have a break as not even ten minutes of wandering later they’d found a hangar.

A very busy hangar.

He supposed that evened out the luck.

Fortunately the people milling about seemed to be laborers rather than fighters as they loaded and unloaded cargo from various transport ships. That made sense as he recalled that the Merklan Group had heavy ties to the black market and merchandise was sort of a requirement.

Keith’s eyes lighted on a smaller vessel; still larger than a typical offensive ship but something he should be capable of piloting on his own and it appeared rather heavily armored as well. He inclined his head at it and Lance gave a nod next to him where they were both crouched (Lance kneeling) behind a large shipping crate.

It was being loaded with smaller crates than the bulk of most and Keith watched impatiently as the one lone worker going up and down the ramp finally finished.

“Go,” he whispered to Lance, tugging on the dark arm and propelling them in a crouched, stumbling run towards the ship as the worker headed for the main section where an overseer stood with a datapad.

They somehow made it up the ramp without anyone shouting after them. Keith hit the button on the inside of the cargo hold with bated breath, still waiting for the sound of lasers or an alarm.

The door closed with a comforting _thunk._

“Come on,” he kept his voice low as he steered Lance past the strapped down boxes and towards the cockpit.

There were two chairs and Lance gratefully sank into one.

He was trembling badly.

Keith cast his eyes about the cabin and let out a soft sound of relief as he spotted the almost universal medical kit. Upon opening it the items inside were foreign — not Earth or Altean make — but the blanket was obvious and he pulled it out with a shake.

“Here,” he said, settling it over Lance’s front and tucking the edges over his shoulder between Lance and the seat to hold it there.

“ _Gracias,”_ Lance whispered.

“Sit tight,” Keith said, settling himself into the main chair and examining the controls.

“Wasn’t planning on anything else,” Lance responded, a laugh in his voice despite the clear exhaustion and pain.

He found his eyes sinking closed as he heard Keith muttering below his breath as he figured out the alien ship, feeling almost warm beneath the blanket but more than that feeling _safe._

For a complete disaster of a mission it was actually all going to turn out all right.

Mostly.

His hands trembled beneath the blanket that had nothing to do with the injuries to them.

He’d…

He’d killed someone.

And yet…

He opened his eyes to watch Keith let out a breath and decisively flip a switch.

He didn’t regret it.

Not when it meant his family remained safe.

“Okay, here we go,” Keith announced. “Ready?”

“Absolutely.”

The ship engines thrummed around them and Keith expertly lifted the craft from its spot. A moment later he pushed on the thrusters and the craft _shot_ across the hangar towards the closing gap of the outside hangar door that one ship had just launched from.

Keith slipped into the closing crack with inches to spare and burst into the star-studded sky.

An alarm began to sound a moment later but by that point Keith was already directing the craft up and off the planet and for the atmosphere.

No one spoke for several minutes as Keith concentrated on piloting the foreign craft and Lance stared out the front window and the rearview camera system, half-expecting to see an oncoming angry fleet.

No one pursued.

They had actually done it.

“This is a better supply ship than ours,” Keith said into the quiet. “Better fueled too. We’ll take it to the rendezvous and if Allura really wants hers back someone else can go get it on Xindew.”

Lance let out a huff of agreement.

He had no personal desire to ever set foot on that planet again.

“Hey, Keith?” he asked after a moment needing something, _anything,_ to distract him from the pain and other thoughts. “All those boxes in back. What’s… what’s in them?”

“Hopefully a wormhole to the castle,” Keith muttered and Lance went to laugh although the action had him coughing instead as his chest seized. 

“‘m fine,” he said, waving a blanket obscured hand as Keith turned wide, almost panicked, eyes towards him.

“You’re the farthest thing from it,” Keith told him although his face had smoothed out. “But you will live.”

“Thanks for the diagnosis, doc.”

Keith rolled his eyes even as a smile tugged up his face and he slipped out of the seat, understanding the needed distraction. “I’ll go check. Hang on.”

A few ticks later Keith returned, one of the crates in his hands and a blank expression on his face.

Lance felt his stomach clench.

What was in there?

“It’s not a wormhole,” Keith told him, lowering the crate, although he didn’t quite sound upset.

It was gold.

Lots and lots of gold.

“What?” Lance croaked.

“They’re all like this,” Keith said. “Looks like we hit,” his lips quirked, “the jackpot.”

“Oh _Dios mío.”_

Lance didn’t know whether to laugh or cry, both at the discovery and Keith’s terrible joke.

At least he could pay Allura back the near thirty thousand GAC between the child pickpocket and what he’d lost when they’d been captured.

And the rest…

The rest they could use to help planets and communities that needed it, that had been hurt by the Galra.

They could help so many people with this.

People like a little boy who had been just trying to take care of his family.

He’d started all of this with his decision to steal Keith’s knife and had sent them on a very long, very painful mission.

But…

But it had been worth it.

The gold was amazing, yes. They could help so many, use what was likely blood money for good.

More than that though…

They had found family.

And they still had one more to find.

“Keith,” Lance called softly from where Keith had settled back into the pilot’s chair and sharp and at the same time soft purple eyes turned to him. “We found your knife.”

“...yes?” Keith said slowly, not sure where this was going.

“We’ll find Shiro too.”

Keith’s breath caught.

“Together,” Lance smiled gently. “We’ll find him. We won’t stop looking until our family is whole again.”

“But…” Keith swallowed. “But Voltron. The universe.”

“We’ll do both,” Lance told him, confidence clear. “We’ll find Shiro, be the defenders of the universe and _you,”_ he pulled a mangled hand out from beneath the blanket and lightly tapped Keith on the shoulder, “are going to lead us.”

“I don’t know if I can,” Keith said quietly. “I… I almost got you killed, Lance.”

“You’re also the reason I’m alive,” Lance said softly. “You protected me, Keith. You looked out for me. Just like you do for our team. Shiro… Shiro will be so proud.”

“You… you think so?” Keith was alarmed to hear his voice growing high with tears.

“I know so. And soon he’ll be able to tell you himself.”

Keith jerkily rose from his chair.

“Kei—?”

He cut Lance off with a hug.

It was gentle, mindful of Lance’s wounds, but strong and fierce all the same, and he let out a sob as Lance’s arms encircled his back.

“Thank you,” Keith whispered.

The words may have been simple but he knew Lance heard everything behind them.

Lance’s embrace tightened, response enough.

Keith let out a soft sigh and relaxed fully in the hug.

Brothers in arms they were indeed.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And final chapter so I can say this fanfic is ovah. (gracias a dios).
> 
> If you enjoyed the fic please do leave a comment; I'd love to hear your final thoughts.
> 
> I'm on a slow exit out of fanfiction (see my Tumblr for more details) but if you want to keep up with what I am up to or see ways to keep me writing fanfiction for a little longer, also check out my [Tumblr, icypantherwrites.](https://icypantherwrites.tumblr.com/)
> 
> Look forward to reading your final comments :)


End file.
